TPS II: Creatures of the Night
by El Varon
Summary: Slight AU. In the Canadain Rockies, Logan and Jean encounter a young couple running from a veritable army. Meanwhile, an archaeological dig may unearth a sinister link between a new XMan's family history and the pursuers.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men, or any other Marvel character. Warlock, Seraph, Lobo, Shift, and Hardcase are all my creations

A/N: Slight AU. This takes place approximately two months after "A New Beginning". Please read and review.

The Protector Saga, Part II

Creatures of the Night

Convergences

**Greenwich Village, New York**

Doctor Steven Strange sat down at his desk with the day's mail. He had been expecting a book on demonology from a woman in Texas. It had been her daughter's. Apparently the girl had died over a year previously, and the mother had only recently gotten to looking into her daughter's effects. She had added almost as an afterthought that she thought her daughter had been interested in witchcraft.

Sifting through the mail, he came upon the book the woman had finally sent. Taking care so as not to damage the contents, he slowly opened the envelope. Taking a firm hold on the heavy book, he took it out slowly, to discover an ancient tome. It was old … extremely old. The cover seemed to be bone, dyed black. At the very center of the cover was a twisted, emaciated figure, its face a grotesque mask of horror. Bordering the figure, near the edge, were characters that may have been ancient Samarian at one time. Now though, the characters had been worn so that they were completely smooth in some areas.

Curious about the contents, he unclasped the lock, and opened to the middle of the book. This isn't an amateur's book, he thought as his breath caught in his chest. He had opened the tome to find a spell that would open a massive portal to Dormammu's dimension. Looking over the spell, he realized that though the book was not meant for amateur wizards and sorcerers, the magic could be done by someone with less than a year's worth of training. Flipping to another page, he gasped in horror. He had found a spell that could, in the right hands, leave every dimensional variant of the Earth open to the Evil One's Legions of Darkness. Every version of the Earth would become Hell, the collective souls of humanity forced to live out the rest of existence under the yoke of an evil no one had ever contemplated.

Realizing he had to do something about the ancient text, he decided he had to destroy it. Standing up, he accidentally knocked over the rest of the day's mail. Picking up the envelopes, he couldn't help but notice one being postmarked from Athens, Greece. The manila envelope was nothing to look at, but for some reason he was drawn to it. Picking it up, he could feel magic coursing through whatever was inside. Opening it, he was surprised to find what was inside.

It was a letter, written entirely in ancient Greek. In the top left corner, there was an intricate letterhead. It was an encircled, equidistant cross, turned forty-five degrees on its side. In each of the four spaces were insignias. One was a breaking wave, its crest rolling and driving down. The second was a massive cliff or a mountain, as seen from the very base looking up. The third was a massive bonfire roaring on a wooden pyre, embers flying into the air. The fourth was maybe a hurricane or a tornado, seen from above, massive amounts of debris circling an empty eye. As Dr. Strange read the letter, his eyes slowly widened, his mouth gaping in awe. It was impossible, he thought. They are only … a myth. Slowly placing the letter on his desk, he realized that he, too, would be involved in the coming events. He realized also that he would be going to Greece. He left his office, the haze of the stress of planning a trip suddenly coming over his mind.

This letter, which had so occupied the good doctor's attention, summarized, loosely translated to the following: "You, Dr. Steven Strange, Supreme Sorcerer of Earth, are being invited to join the ancient and highly revered Order of Elements. If interested, come to Athens as soon as possible. If you do decide to answer this letter in the positive, you will be contacted."

**London, England**

She awoke with a start, the end of the nightmare drifting into her consciousness, the dreamscape melting into waking reality just for an instant. She sighed contentedly when she realized it had just been a dream, and nothing more. She collapsed back into bed, sighing again, and let her heartbeat slow down. She noticed that her sweaty bed sheets had already started to cool. She tried to relax again, so she could hopefully fall asleep. She did not want to look at the clock; if she did, she would undoubtedly never get back to sleep.

It was then she realized it. Her sheets were sweaty. She listened for the air conditioner; the damn thing had probably gone out again. Hearing nothing, she shed her sheets, and stood up, ignoring her silk housecoat. She preferred the freedom of being nude anyways. Besides, she had always enjoyed showing off her feminine "blessings". There is nothing fake on this body, she thought proudly. She reached the thermostat, and turned the AC on, hearing the familiar, comforting sound of it starting up. She decided that since she was up, she might as well get a glass of water.

She leaned against the counter, drinking her water. From the kitchen, she had an excellent view of the rest of the flat. By London standards, it was massive. By any standards, it was lush, and expensive. In recent years, the only other place that she had seen that had been as lush as her present flat had been the mansion. But, it was on the other side of the Atlantic.

Though she didn't want to admit it, her thoughts made her feel homesick. Despite everything she had tried to do, her home was still across the pond. At times like this, she almost forgot why she had left. But, then she remembered: HIM. The bastard. She had always wanted him; always secretly yearned for him. And then, when he split up with his wife, everyone found out he was gay. Of course, he wasn't just dipping his toes in the pool to see how it felt. No, of course not. He was full-fledged, flaming, rainbow-flag-waving gay.

That was why she was here, away from her native country. But, this flat, it just wasn't home. And the dream she'd been having for the last month seemed to cement that. In that dream, she was in a dank, dark place, with no windows, and a strong smell of death and blood. She walked through tunnels of concrete hearing gunshots, explosions, screams, and roars of rage. Amidst that she heard two things: the scream of a girl, and the unmistakable sound of Wolverine bellowing in rage. Walking around a corner, she saw Jubilee in the arms of a creature with blue-gray skin, and black eyes. The creature had its claws to the girl's throat. In front of the two of them was Logan, a look of pure animalistic rage on his face. Then, suddenly, she felt a voice in her head speak to her: YOU WILL BE NEEDED. IF YOU DO NOT RETURN, THIS WILL HAPPEN. **SHE** WILL NEED YOU. As she dealt with the all-encompassing migraine that followed, she watched as Jubilee's throat was torn out, her mentor falling to his knees in anger and despair.

It was because of this dream that she was now considering returning. She returned to her bedroom, and sat down on the bed. She ran her head through her hair, and thought about what she was going to do. Should she return, or should she stay? That dream; it felt so real, as if it really was going to happen. And, for some reason she couldn't ignore it. Vaguely, she realized the dream was playing with maternal instincts she didn't even know she had. Finally, she made up her mind. She had to return. There was something with these dreams that she didn't understand. Maybe, just maybe, over there, there would be someone who knew what the dream meant.

With that, Emma Frost went to her closet and began packing. She was going home.

**East Coast of Spain**

Guillermo Diaz sat on the beach next to his best friend, Rafael Ortega. Rafael was currently listening to a football game on his headphones. Honestly, Guillermo thought, the man can't stop worrying about the game. He could understand how people could get into the game, how they could go to the stadiums and cheer for their teams. He, himself, loved the sport. But, Rafael had a problem. Namely, he was getting into serious debt with all the betting he was doing.

Rafael would bet on just about anything. He would bet on the scores of the teams, on who made the goals, and so on and so forth. Guillermo had even seen Rafael bet on the hairdo one of their team's more eccentric players would be wearing. It had become insane. That was part of the reason they had come to the beach for the day. They were supposed to get away from the sport.

But, Rafael had brought his little radio. His loss, Guillermo thought, eyeing the large number of attractive women on the sand. Until three months earlier, he had a girlfriend he had met two years earlier, during his first year of university. Three months ago, she had broken up with him, only to be seen less than a week later with the star center of the local football team. He was an incredible player, and was probably going to play professionally.

Even now, he still loved her. But, he had never been able to tell her his deepest, darkest secret. He was a mutant. He was a mutant who could heat and cool substances at will. That fact that he had never been able to tell her made him think that perhaps she would not have understood. That realization made him start to think that it was a good thing that they never carried their relationship to the next level.

She was the other reason he and Rafael were at the beach. He needed to focus his mind on other women, or at least, that was what he told himself. Right now, he was looking at a gorgeous woman not ten meters from him.

She had wavy brunette hair that reached down between her shoulder blades. Her skin, a healthy light tan, glistened with sweat and suntan oil underneath the Mediterranean sun. Face-down, she had a pair of dark sunglasses covering her eyes, and was listening to headphones placed loosely over her ears. Whether she was asleep or not, Guillermo could not tell. But, as his eyes drifted over her perfectly toned legs, he was secretly glad this was a nude beach.

He looked over his shoulder to see the woman's boyfriend talking it up with a pair of girls he knew from university. The boyfriend, Guillermo noted sadly, was built like a tank. Even from here, Guillermo could make out the man's muscles as they rippled under his skin. He could probably run for Mr. Universe, he thought. He looked at his own body. He wasn't fat, not by any standards. But, despite playing football twice a week, he still had a small paunch just below his navel. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, he could never look like the boyfriend.

His mind falling back to reality, he turned around and faced the water. After a few moments, it seemed to him that there was something moving just below the surface, maybe about ten meters out. Suddenly, he saw the top of a head, with close-cropped red hair. Slowly, a man's head appeared beneath the hair. It suddenly occurred to him that someone was walking out of the Mediterranean. His brows knitted in confusion. How could anyone do that? They could only do it if they were … a mutant.

Guillermo kept watching as the man slowly walked inland. His gait seemed almost as if it could not be stopped; it almost said that anyone that tried would be pushed aside. Finally, the man's entire torso appeared above the water. Guillermo looked on, awestruck. If the woman's boyfriend had been a tank, this man coming out of the sea was a walking fortress. Judging from his torso, the man had to be well over two meters tall. From his musculature, Guillermo thought the man probably had the world record for heaviest muscled man. As he watched the man's unwavering procession, he realized that he was headed straight for the gorgeous brunette.

"Hey, lady," he called as loud as possible. She didn't move. He looked out to sea to see the massive man in ankle-deep water. He realized he had misjudged the speed at which the man was moving. With his long, powerful, forceful strides, he walked faster than what most people did. "Hey, lady," he called again. He saw the man come closer step by step. Now, he was close enough to see the dazed look in the man's eyes, and to see that he was muttering something. "Damn it," he said, realizing that he would have to get to her to get her out of the way.

He began moving towards her, but even as he did so, he realized that she could never get out of the way fast enough. Picking up speed, he dove into the sand, and putting his hand beneath her abdomen, wrenched her out of harm's way. Rolling twice before they came to a stop, Guillermo noticed the woman's beautiful brown eyes just as he heard the massive man's thunderous step beside them. He looked up, seeing the tree trunk of a leg recede inland. He could just make out a monotonous American accent saying something in English. "I am the Guardian. I must atone for my sins."

He looked back down to the woman, and saw her eyes were now green slits, like a lizard's. She was a mutant. With the realization, he slowly got off of her. Before he could lift himself halfway, she pushed him away from her, into the sand. "What the hell do you think you're doing," she asked, her eyes aflame with fury. Instead of trying to answer her, he pointed to where she had been only moments before, and where there was now only a massive footprint.

She looked at where she had been, slightly dazed. In the place where she had been only moments before, there was a deep hole in the sand in the shape of a massive foot. Her towel had been utterly demolished. If she had been there, she realized, she would have been split in half. She followed the tracks of the gargantuan footprints, and saw an equally gargantuan man walking inland. She saw Giovanni, her boyfriend, looking after the man with contempt. She knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, he was trying to figure out how to become as large as that man. She looked back at the young man who had saved her. He was still lying on the sand, looking up at her as if she was a Greek goddess.

"Hello," she said, kneeling. "My name is Maria. Maria Pacciano. I'm sorry I was so rude." She smiled, embarrassed. "I suppose I owe you my life."

"My name is Guillermo," he replied. "And you don't owe me anything. I was just doing what any normal person would do." He realized, only afterwards, he had referred to himself as not being normal.

She looked back at Giovanni. He was looking at his biceps, trying to figure out the best way make them bigger. He hadn't even bothered to look her way. "Say, Guillermo, you wouldn't happen to know of a nice bar around here, would you?"

**Danger Room Observatory**

"Do you believe it advisable to let her know?"

"To be honest, I am not entirely certain, Henry," Professor Xavier replied. They were currently watching Kurt and Angela spar. Kurt had begun teaching her how to fence the day beforehand, and now, less than twenty-four hours later, she could nearly defeat him. It was astounding. But, the Professor thought, no less astounding than her incredible strength, and resistance to injury. They had discovered she was nearly as strong as Henry, and that her skin was almost like Kevlar. To top it all off, the blue energy she was able to produce from her mouth was equally as powerful as Scott's optic blasts.

But that was not what they were trying to decide to tell her. After testing her DNA, Hank found that it was not normal. She had an activated X-Factor, but there was something else. It was not until he had been able to isolate her X-Factor, and determine what it affected, that he discovered what was different. Like all other mutants, her X-Factor, once activated, caused another gene or genes to change, and caused the mutation to show. They still weren't entirely certain as to how this occurred. Like most mutants, Angela had only a few mutated genes (Logan was the exception here; he had so many mutated genes that Hank was still counting them). Her X-Factor and mutated genes coded for her energy blasts. This was all normal.

What was not normal was that he found that the genes for her wings, skin, strength, and possibly her accelerated learning ability were not affected by her X-Factor. In fact, upon further inquiry, Hank had found that these genes, and many others, were not even human. In the end, he came to the conclusion that Angela's mother had been human, but that her father had been something else. As to what, though, he had not been able to discover. The unknown DNA seemed to be closest to what he had on file on the Asgardians, but, even then, it was still too different to be close.

"She has been having nightmares, Henry," the Professor said. "They seem to be memories of what this Sybre had her do."

"So these nightmares are concerned with the violent undertakings that he so easily forced upon her?"

"Not only the violence that he forced her to perform on others Henry." The Professor had a mournful glint in his eye; almost as if what he was about to say was his own memory. "She dreams about what _he_ did to her. He psychologically tortured her, Henry. He raped her almost every day; sometimes three or four times." He stopped, trying to compose himself. He would be lying if he were to say it did not upset him. "This went on for almost ten years. Even among us, I do not know if there is someone who can relate to this kind of pain."

"Should we tell her," Hank asked, after several moments of silence.

"Not yet," the Professor conceded. "She has had enough of a shock dealing with what Sybre had done to her. If we were to tell her now, she very well may have a mental breakdown." He paused. "It would be dangerous to let her know that we do not think she's entirely human."

**Somewhere in the Canadian Rocky Mountains**

Jean woke up to the chilly darkness of the morning. She leaned over to look at the clock next to the bed. It was just past five. She lay back down in the bed, deciding whether to go back to sleep, or to make a cup of tea. She looked over to see Logan turn contentedly on his side, pulling her half of the blankets with him. The choice seemingly made for her, she got out of bed, and stretched silently.

She stood there for a moment, enjoying the feel of the cool air against her naked body. It was refreshing, invigorating. For a moment, she considered drinking her tea in the nude. No, she decided. It would be better to at least have something on in case it spilled. She started searching for her clothes, using her new found sense of smell. She could smell them, she found, but couldn't get a fix. After last night, she thought wryly, there's no wonder I can't find them.

Five minutes later, the only thing she had found was Logan's shirt. She didn't think she would be able to find her clothes without the light. And she didn't want to wake Logan. Deciding his shirt was better than nothing, she pulled it over her head, and found it came just past her hips. She walked out of the bedroom, towards the kitchen, relishing how their scents seemed to mingle so well.

She filled the tea pot, and ignited the stove. Putting the pot on the stove, her thoughts drifted to Logan, and the odd dreams he'd been having lately. His nightmares had decreased in their frequency over the past few weeks. He had been having them almost every night after their encounter with the … demons. Now, though, he was only having one once every other week or so. His insomnia had seemed to ease off somewhat, as well.

But, lately, his dreams had been different. She sat down with her tea at the small dining table, the smooth wood cold against her bare thighs. Her thoughts turned to the new dreams that he'd been having. They seemed to be set in the Middle Ages, and centered on two lovers, from opposing kingdoms. The woman was tall, sculpted, with long red hair, and fair skinned. The man was tall, with short dark hair, and ruddy skin. He, too, was very muscular.

The two apparently fell in love despite their kingdoms warring against each other. The only dream that he'd had had been on a battlefield. The kingdoms' armies had been assembled, facing each other, on opposite sides of a massive plain that made up one of the borders of their realms. A cool wind blew out of the northwest, as a parley between the two armies was enjoined.

The first of the opponents were dressed in armor with elegant lines, designs etched into the metal. Their golden armor reflected in the sun, their swords gleaming with a malicious light. The woman with red hair rode on a horse next to her father. She, like the soldiers behind her, wore the same armor, with a sun centered in the middle of her chest-plate. A sword hung in a sheath on her horse's saddle. Beside her was their flag-bearer, the red banner flapping in the wind. The emblem on the banner was made of two scimitar-like swords, crossed over each other. The blades, in turn, were set into a royal blue shield. The shield, in turn, was set into the chest of a massive, burning bird of prey.

The dream ended there, but Logan had said that there was something about the other army that seemed important to him. He just wasn't sure what it was. Her reverie was broken there, as she heard Logan stirring in the bedroom. As he walked into the kitchen, she could see just by his faced that he'd had another dream. "Logan?"

"It was the same dream as before," he said. "But, I keep thinkin' I'm missing somethin'."

"But you don't have any idea what it is." It was more a statement than a question.

"No," he said. He looked up, and for the first time, actually saw her. "Yer wearin' my shirt," he said bluntly.

"Yeah," she replied, arching a delicate eyebrow. "What about it?"

"You know what that does to me," he growled slightly. His eyes had taken on a glint of their own, lust burning behind them.

"No," she replied, standing, the same glint in her eyes. "Why don't you show me?" She leaned against the table, allowing the shirt to ride up past her thighs.

- - - -

Sitting on Logan's lap, Jean rested her chin on his shoulder, their sex musk permeating the room. "I love you, Logan," she said contentedly.

"And I love ya too, darlin'," he replied, stealing a kiss as he looked into her eyes.

"Hey," she said standing. "Are you hungry," she asked. Before he could respond, she heard footsteps, heavy footsteps, coming towards the cabin. "Logan?"

"I heard it too," he responded, bending to get his pants. Jean threw on his shirt, moving quickly and quietly towards the bedroom. A few moments later, and several more footsteps, she came back into the kitchen, buttoning a pair of blue jeans.

"Any idea who it is?"

"No," he replied. "There ain't nobody that knows we're here." He looked at her just as her eyes seemed to glaze over. He had had the same idea, just as she had done it. He, too, was about to reach out with his telepathy, when her eyes cleared.

"I think they're looking for help, Logan."

"There ain't a civilized town around fer miles. Where would they be comin' from?"

"I don't know," she replied softly. The footsteps were now almost on top of them. They both looked to the door as a soft knock sounded from it.

"Is anyone here," a male voice from the other side of the door.

"Logan," Jean said. "They need help." She moved towards the door, Logan behind her. _Be ready fer anythin'_, she heard in her head. Opening the door, she saw a handsome man with shoulder length blonde hair with an unmoving woman in his arms. She was quite beautiful, with dark hair, and pale skin; skin that was almost too pale.

"We need a place to rest," the man said. He gestured towards the woman in his arms. "She's been injured."

Jean was about to gesture for them to come inside, when she heard Logan growl beside her. Turning her head, she saw that his entire body was poised to strike, his fist cocked at his sides, claws ready to pop. Before she could ask him what was wrong, he spat out a single word, his lips bared in a snarl. "Vampire."


	2. Discoveries and Meetings

AN: My thanks to darkstorm5000 for the review; much appreciated. Please read and review!

AN2: I forgot to put a second diclaimer in the first chapter; I was too excited when I was writing it.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from "Underworld"; they belong to Len Wiseman, Danny McBride, and Sony Pictures.

Sorry to everyone for the inconvenience.

**Chapter Two: Discoveries and Meetings**

**Jornada del Muerto, New Mexico**

Ana Maria Castellanos was kneeling on the ground, carefully removing dirt from the newly uncovered skull. Her long, thick hair was pulled back in a severe pony tail under her old Stetson, shielding her eyes from the blazing sun. Sweat rolled down her back, staining her t-shirt as it mixed with several days' worth of dirt. After staying in the same position for nearly an hour, her knees were roaring and her back was almost numb. She ignored the pain, the heat, the sweat, and the dirt. It didn't matter. What mattered was making sure the specimen was unearthed properly, with patience and caution.

She was working on a dig site that her father had been searching for his entire life. Both Ana, and her father, Diego, had been fascinated with history and archaeology. And, so, when she had entered college, she had immediately followed her father's footsteps into archaeology. But, it wasn't until she had started her first year of grad school that she had learned what her father had been really studying.

Her father had always been interested in the pre-Colombian cultures of North and Central America. He would become the foremost expert on pre-Colombian cultures in the American Southwest. Because of this, Ana had learned a great deal about Indian society during her summers away from school, accompanying her father to innumerable exhibitions. And it was because of these summers with her father that she grew interested in the field.

But, once she hit grad school, she learned more about what her father had been working on. He had come to believe that there had been a massive, short-lived unification of the tribes in North America. Most of his peers scoffed at him, believing him to be mad. In fact, he had been humiliated by Art Billings, his former colleague and best friend, on stage at a national convention while trying to present his theory. Her father would die a week later in an automobile accident, his theory seemingly dying with him. Ana had just barely turned nine.

After her major professor, Dr. Rafael Montoya, another of her father's friends, had filled her in on what had occurred all those years ago, she began looking into her father's research. She found some of his initial findings: a Pequod tomahawk found in western Texas; a Miami burial site found in northern Oklahoma; several Huron burial sites, and a number of weapons found in southern Utah. All of the finds were carbon dated to be approximately eight hundred years old.

But none of the finds proved conclusively that there was a connection between them. Her father would, some time later, meet an Apache man who claimed that he had been told a story as a boy about a great gathering of the People. The man said that it was a massive effort to stop an enemy coming from the west. The man's name, she learned, was John Whitefeather, the father to her first boyfriend, Joey Whitefeather. The possibility of a coincidence was lost on her.

She would later learn that her father had wanted her and her mother to live close to the reservation where the Whitefeathers lived. Her father had said that he wanted them to live close to a friend, in case there was ever need of protection. But protection against what, Ana never knew. Nor did she know what was so special about the Whitefeather family. But irregardless of the mysteries that surrounded her father, and the long, hard years it had taken for her to get a PhD at the young age of twenty-six, she was now vindicating her father's life work.

Turning back to her work, Ana brushed some more dirt away from the skull. This was the third skeleton they had found at the site, and they had been there less than two days. Besides that, they weapons and artifacts discovered had already begun to be tentatively identified. They had discovered, beyond a shadow of doubt, Chinook, Nez Perce, and Crow artifacts. It was expected that there were more.

But, this skull … it held her attention. There seemed to be something about it that wasn't quite right. She had already noted that, judging from the curvature of the cranium, the skull was larger than that of a normal human. The left zygomatic arch, the one she could see, seemed much more robust than what she had been expecting. It actually seemed more like that found in large predators than in humans. And what she could see of the nasal bone seemed … deformed, elongated, even.

It took her nearly another hour to clean off the rest of the side of the skull. Taking a step back from what she had unearthed, she double-checked her findings. It seemed too detailed to be a hoax. She signaled to a student working near her. "Aaron," she said, "find Dr. Childress. Bring him here as quick as you can."

"Okay," the younger man said, noticing a strange gleam in her eyes.

A few minutes later, the young man returned, followed by a thin, sinewy man with blonde hair and wire-rim glasses. "Aaron said you wanted to see me," the man said.

"Come with me, Marty," Ana replied. Pointing to the skull, she asked, "What do you think of that?"

"Wow," he said, kneeling beside her find. "It has to be a hoax," he opined, after staring at the massive skull fore several moments.

"If it was," Ana replied, "than it had to have been a mammalogist." She kneeled beside him, pointing at several different parts of the skull. "It has a massive sagittal crest, extremely large and robust teeth, and the foramen for the spinal cord is ventral, not posterior. And these are things that I've noticed. I'm familiar with human skeletons, but I'm not a biologist."

"And I'm a physicist, so explain to me why the sagi-whatchamacallit is so important."

"Sagittal crests are found in predators," she began exasperatedly. "If you've ever felt the back of your dog's head, and felt the little ridge of bone there, that's what it is. It gives animals much more powerful bites. And because the foramen is at the bottom of the skull, the animal had to walk upright, or at least semi-upright."

"So you think it might be real," Marty asked.

"It might be," she replied. She turned to him with a pleading look in her eyes. "That's why I need you to carbon-date it for me."

"I knew you called me over here for something," he said, standing. "And if it's real, you're going to get the right to name it. Any ideas off the bat?"

"I don't know," she said. "Maybe _Homo sapiens lycanthropa_, or maybe _Homo lupus_." She stood up beside him, eyes on the skull at her feet. "Just think though: if it is real, then it's the first biological evidence for the existence of werewolves."

- - - -

**X-Mansion, the next morning**

The phone was ringing.

That was the first thing Joey realized as he rolled over, reaching for the damnable thing that woke him up. "Hello," he answered groggily, his eyes sore.

"Joey?"

"Who's this," he asked, the glaze of being half-asleep evaporating.

"It's Ana, Ana Castellanos," she replied. "I need some help." Her voice was pleading; he'd never heard her so … desperate.

"What's wrong," he asked, concernedly, standing up. Behind him, he could hear Celeste stirring.

"Someone's been killed," she replied, her voice breaking. "The police think it was a bear."

"But you don't think so," he said, after a moment of silence.

"No," she answered. "I think it was … you'll think I'm crazy for saying it."

"No, I won't." He looked behind him to see Celeste sitting up in their bed, her eyes questioning.

"I thought it was a werewolf."

"Listen," he said, after a moment of silence, "tell me where you are. I'll be down there as fast as I can."

- - - -

"So do you think that was what she saw," Professor Xavier asked.

"It might've been," Joey responded, pacing the room. He was in Professor Xavier's office with Celeste. Against one wall Betsy stood, while Scott stood stoically on the other. Jake was monitoring the Danger Room, Ororo, Kurt, and their newest member, Angela, trying one of the newest simulations. "If you knew Ana," Joey said, "you'd know she's not likely to lose her head."

"What do you mean," Betsy asked.

"Well, she's the toughest woman I've ever met," Joey responded. "I dated her when she was in high school." Celeste looked at him questioningly, as if she wanted to say something. "She played football then, and she wasn't a kicker. She was a linebacker."

"Linebacker," Betsy asked.

"How big was she," Scott asked at the same time.

"A linebacker," Joey explained, "is a part of the defensive line on a football team. They're usually big, maybe two or three hundred pounds." He turned towards Scott. "She's about 5'7", and 130-135 pounds. But as I was saying, I once saw her break a leg on the field. She was carried off, but not ten minutes later, she came back to finish the game."

"On a broken leg," Scott asked. "How?"

"She set it herself, and used some tape and a chair leg as a splint. She limped for the rest of the game." He paused for effect. "But they won. Needless to say, the rest of the team was damn near afraid of her. And the opposing team was."

"Anything else," Professor Xavier asked.

"Yeah," Joey added. "She stays cool under pressure; I ain't never seen anyone that could take the stress she has. Also, when she was in college, she was a biology minor." He looked around the room, adding, "If she says she saw a werewolf, I believe her."

"Okay," Betsy said. "But we're still uncomfortable with you going by yourself."

"But, this is personal."

"Yes, I know," she replied. "But, call it a premonition, but we believe that it would be better if you were to take at least two others with you."

"A premonition? Are you having dreams again," Joey asked.

"Not exactly dreams, but more of a feeling of unease," Betsy answered. "Both Jake and I have had this feeling; almost as if something is just beyond the horizon, but we don't know what it is."

"Fine," Joey acquiesced. "Who did you want to send with us?"

"Scott and Bishop," Betsy nodded towards the other man. "If anything should go wrong, Scott is being placed in charge."

"You think something is going to go wrong," Celeste asked. "Don't you think we can take care of ourselves?"

"We know that you are more than capable of taking care of any dangerous position you find yourselves in," Professor Xavier said. "However, it would not hurt to have someone else to fight alongside, should the need call for it." As he finished his sentence, his eyes unfocused, becoming strangely distant. A moment later, Betsy, too, had the same unfocused concentration in her eyes, the two of them obviously speaking to each other. "I just received a request for two more to come with you. Would that be alright?"

"Who's request," Celeste asked.

"It was Angela," the Professor replied. "She wants to go. But, she wanted Kurt to come with her. He was willing to agree, but only if it was alright with the two of you."

"I suppose it's okay," Celeste answered. "Where are they?"

"They both just finished a Danger Room session," Betsy said. As Celeste, Joey, and Scott exited the room, she turned towards the Professor. "Do you really think she's ready, though?"

"Physically, undoubtedly," he responded. "Mentally, though, I am not entirely certain. But, both you and Jake had the final say."

"Well, she's been getting a little restless, lately," Betsy said. "And we both wanted to find out how she would react with working in a team." She looked towards the door. "And though we've both been feeling uneasy, neither of us think that they're going to get into too much trouble."

"Bet that as it may," the Professor began, "I am still concerned with her mental well-being." He looked into her eyes. "She still has a great deal of issues to deal with from the time she was a prisoner. She's been having some … anger problems."

- - - -

"Damn it," Jake muttered. He'd underestimated how much time it would take him to write a lesson plan on Tecumseh, and his relationship with William Henry Harrison during the War of 1812. He had to have it ready in less than forty-eight hours, and he had just barely started. On top of that, he had only just begun grading the exams he had handed out the week before over the American Revolution. And, of course, he had to look at the journals the kids had written over what they actually knew about the War of 1812; he expected that most would not know much about it. And, to top it all off, he had scheduled a Danger Room session later on in the day. "Why the hell did I decide to do so much at a single time," he asked himself exasperatedly.

He figured he had maybe thirty students in a class, and six classes. That would be, what, he asked himself. About one hundred eighty students, and taking that number by three, gave him five hundred forty pages to look at just from the test. And then adding another one hundred eighty pages for the journals gave him over seven hundred pages to look at in less than forty-eight hours. "Seven hundred pages," he said, resignedly.

It was these thoughts that were running through his head as he made his way from the Danger Room to his own room. He was not looking forward to spending the weekend pouring over a book's worth of homework from his students. He was actually hoping someone would decide to take this weekend to try to take over the world. Or maybe they could break up a slavery ring. Something. Hell, he thought, I'd even settle for fighting Sinister. His thoughts, though, were broken by the door bell ringing. "I got it," he called, passing the door.

"Hello," he said, opening the door. Before him was a woman dressed entirely in white. His eyes drifted over her body, taking in the expansive amount of bare flesh almost of their own accord. "Hi," he said, uncomfortably. "Can I help you?"

"I need to speak with Professor Xavier," she said brusquely.

"Um, okay," he replied, a little confused. "Listen, um," he began, still standing in the doorway. "It's not his birthday. And I don't think anyone of us would hire you. So, um, who sent you?"

"What," the woman asked sharply.

"I guess you're not a stripper then."

"Just who do you think you are," the woman asked icily, her entire body rigid with resignation.

"I'm Jake," he said. After a moment's hesitation, he added, "And who are you?"

"Emma," a woman's voice spoke frostily behind him. Turning, he saw Ororo, surprised by her unusually cold tone.

"Um, okay," Jake said hesitatingly, seeing his own breath, and realizing he had missed some bitter history between the two.

- - - -

**Canadian Rockies**

"Who are you," Jean asked tensely, her entire body taut, ready for a fight.

"Michael," the man said quickly. "She's not going to hurt anyone," he said, indicating the woman in his arms. "She doesn't drink human blood."

"An' we're jus' supposed ta take yer word," Logan asked, his eyes exuding an animalistic intensity. He, like Jean, was tense, his entire body ready to spring at a moment's notice, much like a predator.

"No," the man, Michael, replied. "I guess not." He paused for a moment. "Listen," he said, "if she tries to bite either of you, I'll kill the both of us."

"If she tried anything," Logan said menacingly, "we'd kill the both o' ya anyway."

"Fine," the other man replied, something seemingly struggling to surface behind his eyes. "But I love this woman. And right now she is bleeding to death." He looked into Jean's and Logan's eyes. "I'm a doctor; I can sew her up fast and easily. But, she needs to rest somewhere where there is no sunlight. Out there, there is nothing but trees and snow. This is the only place with a roof for miles on end." His eyes became intense, the eyes of a doctor trying to save a patient. "Now, you can either let us in to let me save her life, or you can have the death of woman you've never met on your hands."

Logan and Jean looked at each other, a silent conversation going on between them. After several moments, they both looked at the newcomers. "Fine," they said together. "But," Logan added, "if she tries anything, she ain't gonna survive 'til tonight."

"She won't," the man said reluctantly. "But, I agree."

- - - -

Logan was leaning against the dining table, drinking coffee, the morning sunlight streaming through the windows. Jean, at the moment, was standing near the front door, watching as the newly arrived doctor covered the vampire woman with a blanket to protect her from the sun. They had had to explain to Michael that there was no place in the cabin that was entirely shielded from the sun. The best place, they had decided, was next to the couch, most of the sunlight passing over her harmlessly.

"Is there a place I can take a shower," Michael asked. He had the woman's blood all over his clothes, and over him.

"Over there," Jean pointed the bathroom. "We've got some extra clothes. They might be a little too big for you, but they'll be warm."

"Thank you," he said, entering the bathroom.

As Jean watched him go into the bathroom, she turned to Logan. _Why did you want them to come in_, she asked.

_'Cause she ain't the same kinda vampire we fought before_, Logan replied telepathically.

_What do you mean?_

_She smells like a vampire_, Logan thought. _But she don't smell as much like death as the ones we fought before._ He turned towards Jean. _Besides, I don't know if you've noticed, but she's got a heartbeat. Can ya hear it?_

She concentrated for a moment. _Yeah_, she replied. _But, if she's not the same kind of vampire that we fought before, then what kind of vampire is she?_

_I ain't too sure._

Jean seemed to be mulling over something in her mind, something that she was thinking more and more about. _I know something though_, Jean said to Logan. _The smell of her blood is starting to annoy me. It only started out as being cloying. But, now, it's starting to really get on my nerves. It's starting to make me anxious, and I keep on thinking about …_

_What_, Logan asked.

_I keep on thinking about killing her._

_It's 'cause she's competition._

_What_, Jean asked sharply.

_She's another predator_, Logan answered. _Yer feelin' anxious, and thinkin' about killing her because she's another predator in your territory._

_Oh_, Jean thought. _That makes sense._

_That's why we're gonna hafta bury his bloody clothes. If we don't, all the animals are gonna stay away from here, an' we won't be able ta hunt._

As he finished his thought, their guest finished in the shower, wearing a shirt and pair of pants that Logan hadn't yet worn. "Where can I put these," he asked, holding up the bloodied clothes.

"Give 'em ta me," Logan said. The smell of the woman's blood was so strong that it blocked out any other scent. He didn't want to admit it, but he was feeling anxious that he hadn't gotten the scent of Michael yet. "We have to bury them, or else animals will smell her blood and stay away from here."

Logan found a spot not five minutes from the cabin, in a small clearing, where he buried the clothes. He'd noticed as he went through the woods that everything had stopped at the smell of the woman's blood. It's a good thing I decided to bury these, he thought. Though it still annoyed him that he couldn't get Michael's scent; the clothes smelled too much like blood.

But, yet, as the dirt started to cover the clothes, he could already tell that the smell was diminishing. As he finished, he realized that the scent was nearly entirely gone. But, before he could even take a step, he heard Jean's voice in his head. _Logan?_

"Jeannie," he asked, hearing, and feeling, the concern.

_His scent,_ she spoke. _It's making me anxious, Logan. He's a predator, too. But, I don't know what he is._

"I'll be right there," Logan said aloud, already running.

Logan rushed towards the cabin, making it to the porch in just under two minutes. He slowed down, though, when he entered the cabin, not wanting to arouse suspicion. And just as he crossed the cabin's threshold, he found Michael's scent. No wonder it was annoying her. He was part vampire, and part …. He began to growl, the sound rising from the back of his throat, and exploding from his chest.

Logan looked towards the other man as he noticed the growling. With a flick of his hand, Logan threw the man into the nearest wall. Logan pounced on Michael, pinning the man's arms and legs to the wall with his telekinesis. "What the fuck are you," Logan growled in the man's face, his fist under the man's chin.

"Let me go," Michael replied, his tone almost as threatening.

"First, tell me what the fuck you are!"

"Let me go," Michael growled, his eyes starting to glaze over.

"No. You start talkin'," Logan snarled. He backed his fist away from Michael's face, so he could see it. Then, slowly, painfully, sadistically, slowly, he extended his claws to their full length. As he did, Michael's eyes seemed to lose the glaze, and widened, surprise stuck on his face. Logan placed his claws under Michael's jaw, the tips making the smallest of dimples in the skin. "Or I start slicin'."


	3. Conversations

AN: Don't ever, Ever, EVER take an income tax course unless you have LOTS of free time, and you like numbers. Yech. Also, please review.

darkstorm5000: Hey, thanks for the review. Sorry, didn't get to the whole native tribes thing … yet.

Chapter Three: Conversations

**X-Mansion**

"Look, I've already said it once, and I'll say it again: I'm sorry for calling you a stripper."

"That's not good enough," Emma replied to Jake, her entire form seemingly seething in cool anger.

"Well, I'm still sorry," Jake said. "It's just that, considering the environment, I wasn't expecting to see so much skin." The moment he said it, he realized he said too much.

"And what exactly does that mean," she nearly yelled.

"It means-," Jake began, his voice even louder than hers. He paused for a moment, reigning in his temper. "It means," Jake continued, more calmly, "that you've not considered how you dress might affect the kids."

"And how is that," she asked coolly.

"Teenage boys are like walking hard-ons," he said evenly. "One look at you, and their li'ble ta pop."

_THAT IS ENOUGH!_ Professor Xavier's voice yelled into their minds, the equivalent of a jackhammer to the brain. "I will not have you two arguing as nothing more than children," he said tersely from behind his desk.

"I apologize," Jake said to both Professor Xavier and Emma. "What I said was out of line." He held his hand out to Emma. "I'm Jackson Ayers, but most people call me Jake. Nice to meet you."

She looked at his hand, and for a moment Jake didn't think she would grasp it. "Likewise," she said, taking his hand. Her eyes, though, said another story.

"Now, I know that you both wanted to speak with me," Professor Xavier said to the two. "Emma?"

"You've been having dreams," Jake said, more a statement than a question.

"How-," Emma began.

"I can sense it," he said, seemingly looking through her. "I don't know how, though," he continued, mystified.

"Magic," the Professor asked.

"Probably," Jake replied, his eyes clearing. "Do you mind if I ask what they are about?"

She looked towards the Professor, in silent askance, who nodded his head ever so slightly. "I've been seeing something kill Jubilee. It was a blue-gray, humanoid thing, with entirely black eyes. And after it kills her, I see Logan falling to his knees before her body."

"Nothing about that seems familiar," Jake said, after a moment.

"Familiar," Emma asked.

"That's right," Jake said, thoughtfully. "You've been kind of out of the loop. I hope you don't mind me asking, but have you developed any new powers recently, say within the last two months or so?"

"What does that have to do with the dreams?"

"Everything or nothing," Jake said. "We don't know yet."

"Yes," she replied slowly. "I'm stronger than what I used to be when I'm in my diamond form."

"Did this happen after a thunderstorm,' Professor Xavier asked.

"Yes," Emma answered. "But, what does all of this have to do with the dreams I've been having?"

"We don't exactly know," Jake answered her. "But, there is something that we have to tell you."

"And that is?"

"You had better sit down for this," the Professor told her.

"What's going on here," she asked hesitantly, as she took one of the seats in front of the Professor's desk.

"A couple of months ago," Jake said, "there was a massive storm that passed overhead. This storm was not natural, but magical in origin, and it caused lots of changes around here.…"

- - - -

Nearly an hour later, an awestruck Emma walked out of the Professor's office, her mind still trying to grasp that she had just been speaking with someone with the potential to be more powerful than the Phoenix. "What do you think," Jake asked the Professor, as she closed the door.

"It seems," the Professor began, "that the number of comrades-in-arms that we are to have for this … task … will include almost all of those that we have fought alongside."

"I was thinking something along the same line."

"I know," the Professor replied, wryly. "I am a telepath." He looked up at Jake, his smile disappearing. "Now, there was something that you had wanted to speak about with me," he asked, getting down to business.

"Yeah," Jake replied, pulling out a manila folder. "I nearly forgot about it, until I answered the door. I've been busy grading papers … but in any event." He laid the folder on the desk. "I was going through some of the files you had on team members. And they're very well detailed. But, I came across several files where there is no definitive answer as to whether those members are alive or dead. They're names are …"

"Sage, Havoc, and Moonstar," the Professor finished.

"How'd you …", Jake began.

"I was there," the Professor said, a sad half-smile etched into his face. "At the time, Ororo and her team had still been gone from the mansion. As it was, though, they were in southern Ontario, not too far north of Niagara Falls."

"So, they weren't so far away?"

"No, they weren't," the Professor replied. "If it had not been for the fact that they had been so close, things might have been much worse that day."

"What exactly happened?"

"Robots attacked us; robots that were modeled after us," the Professor replied. "Each machine had the combined abilities of three or four of us. To my knowledge, all of them had the ability to repair themselves, with advanced nanotechnology. Many of them had optic blasts, and were able to take massive amounts of damage." He paused for a moment, organizing his thoughts. "Many were able to absorb energy blasts, and reuse the energy for their own purposes. Last of all, they were all armed with mini-guns, and grenade launchers."

"Damn," Jake said softly. "They weren't here for a fight; they were here for an execution."

"That was exactly what came to our minds at the time. We fought them, and for a few moments, it seemed as if we had been able to defeat them. That was when we realized that some of them were repairing themselves. It wasn't until that time, that we realized that we would be needing help. And it wasn't until nearly thirty minutes later, that Storm and her team arrived."

"And what happened in the meantime?"

"Half the mansion was demolished, while almost everyone had been injured. By the time that the others arrived, the only ones standing were Cyclops, Wolverine, and Iceman. Alex and Dani, they had both been fatally injured. Alex's chest had been crushed from a blast from one of the energy absorbing machines. Dani, she …," the Professor paused. He tried to compose himself, but the bitter memory was still evident in his eyes. "She had been almost entirely cut in half by one of the machine's guns." He closed his eyes, and hung his head. "Henry was only able to make them as comfortable as he could.

"As Storm and her team landed, Scott and Bobby tried to clear an area for them. But, while doing that, Bobby was taken down with a blast from one of the same machines that had injured Alex. He lost his left arm, and most of the left side of his torso."

"But, he was still in ice form, though. That's why he still has both arms." It was more a statement than a question.

"Yes," the Professor acquiesced. "He was one of the luckier ones that day." He paused, remembering the day. "Storm's team drew fire the moment they appeared overhead. Rogue was the first out, drawing fire, and allowing everyone else a chance to get out of the jet. Storm had created a massive thunderstorm, but, yet, it was still not enough." He paused, memories he had tried to forget floating back to his waking consciousness. "Sage, she was in the wrong spot, at the wrong moment. Several bullets ricocheted off Logan's shoulder blade, and perforated her lungs. She began to drown even before Henry could get to her."

"What happened to Hank?"

"The machines," the Professor answered somberly, "had targeted his legs with their energy blasts. They broke them both." He paused, the memories haunting him. "But, even if he had not been injured, he would not have been able to bring anyone to the infirmary, because rubble was blocking the way."

"Professor? Are you okay," Jake asked. He'd noticed the elder man's increasingly grave voice.

"It is just that there have been few times when I truly thought the X-Men would not persevere," he replied. He looked up, his eyes grave. "By the time that Sage was shot," he continued, "only Rogue, Ororo, Scott, and Logan were left standing." He smiled gravely.

"I know," Jake said, understanding the smile all too well. "The two of them are so different, but, yet, at times are more similar than either of them would ever be willing to admit."

"Yes," the Professor replied. "Scott had a broken arm, and Ororo was bleeding from a bullet wound to the shoulder. Logan was still standing solely because of his rage. And it was then that the machines had been about to start their final attack."

"But," Jake asked, expectantly.

"But, a sudden, heavy blue-gray mist appeared. It swept over us, and made the few of us left standing pass out." The Professor paused, gathering his thoughts. "But, before I lost consciousness, I heard the sound of electric circuits shorting out."

"What happened?"

"To this day, none of us are entirely sure," the Professor replied. "But the mist saved our lives that day." He looked up towards Jake, meeting the younger man's eyes. "We awoke approximately twelve hours later, with not even a scratch on any of us. But, at the same time, Alex's, Dani's, and Tessa's bodies had disappeared. What was left of the machines was laid out before us, disassembled into scrap metal."

"But, that wasn't the end of it," Jake stated more than asked.

"No, it wasn't," the Professor responded. "Several months later, I detected Dani's mind for a short time, maybe a minute, somewhere in Italy."

"Italy?"

"Yes," the Professor answered. "But, that was still not the end. Perhaps a week afterwards, I sensed Alex in Africa, specifically in western Kenya. Try as I might, I could not get in contact with him, though. After ten minutes, the contact disappeared."

"Did you investigate?"

"Yes, immediately." Professor Xavier smiled gravely. "Storm, Bishop, Beast, and Jean left for Kenya within the hour. But instead of finding Alex, we found someone else."

"Betsy," Jake said softly.

- - - -

**En Route to New Mexico**

"Why didn't you tell me you dated her," Celeste asked, her Australian accent deepening.

"I didn't think it was important," Joey replied, sitting across from her in the jet.

"You didn't think it was important to tell me that your former girlfriend called you for help," she asked, her eyes glaring daggers.

"No, because the last time that the two of us spoke, we'd broken up, and were just friends."

"You think on that word, Joseph Whitefeather," she replied hotly. She turned, and walked towards the back of the plane, leaving a confused Joey. She sat down, opposite Kurt and Angela, fuming on her own thoughts. She pulled the small metal case she brought with her closer, her train of thought obviously changing.

"What is in the case," Kurt asked.

"What," Celeste asked, only hearing his voice.

"What is in the case," he asked again.

"It's a prototype me, Hank, and Kitty have been working on," she replied. She noticed he was squatting on the edge of his seat, his tail swaying gently behind him, balancing his seemingly precarious stance.

"A prototype? What kind," he queried further.

"You remember the cybernetic suit that Sybre wore," she asked. He nodded slightly. She noticed that Angela's eyes seemed to almost glow at Sybre's mention. "Well, this is a prototype of the next version of that suit." She looked at Angela for a moment; the fire in her eyes seemed to have died down, but it was still there. "The original used nanobots that would spread out not just over the skin, but also throughout the body. But, the user had to keep metal bracelets on his or her arms to control them."

"And how is this one different?" It was Angela that asked the question, who now seemed to be truly interested in the subject.

"The first is that we were able to base the new suit on both human and Shi'ar technology. We were also able to mimic the technology in Cable's body."

"You were," Kurt asked, surprised.

"Yes," she replied. "I have to admit, Apocalypse may've been one crazy bloke … but he was a genius. But, anyway, we were able to make nanomachinery that inserted itself into the very genome of its host."

"Isn't that a little dangerous," he asked.

"No," Celeste replied. "But, if there is a problem, we have a failsafe." She opened the metal case, withdrawing a small remote, about the size of a garage opener. "If something goes wrong, the host can just press this button, and all the nanobots will shut down. The body will naturally dispose of them, the same way it would any other dead cell." She put the remote away, closing and locking the case. "Another thing is that once it has bonded with the host, the machines will also protect him or her even when the person is not suited up."

"Really," Kurt asked.

"Yes," she replied, her excitement growing. "And because the nanobots are able to employ nanotechnology, they are able to change the form of the suit at the host's will. This will allow the host to create weapons, from the most archaic to those with complex parts, such as rockets or even guns. It will also allow the host to create locomotion mechanisms, such as, perhaps, propellers, or even a jet engine."

"The three of you were able to invent all of that in just under six months," Angela asked, incredulously.

"Yeah," Celeste replied. "Kind of amazing, huh?"

"Yes," Angela answered. "Quite."

"Now," Kurt said, sitting next to Celeste, "when are you going to tell him?"

"Tell who what," she asked, puzzled.

"When are you going to tell Joey that you've been hurt by lies and half-truths?"

"How," she began exasperatedly. She shut her mouth quickly, almost snapping it, and eyed him suspiciously. "You sat me up."

"Yes," he replied calmly. "But, one cannot talk about problems angrily. The anger can only get in the way."

"Damn you," she cursed half-heartedly. "You and your damn seminary training." She sighed resignedly, picking at her fingernails. "Do you think I overreacted," she asked, looking up.

"I do not know," he admitted. "You had a reason to be upset, of course. He did not, after all, tell you the whole truth." He looked down to his hands, and smiled slightly. "But, perhaps there was a reason he did not tell you."

"Do you think so," she asked, looking into his eyes.

"Yes," he replied, smiling. "As relationships are concerned, most men are as blind fools wondering aimlessly through a dense forest."

"Nice analogy." She smiled, looking at her fingernails again. "I'm still angry at him, though," she said, looking up.

"I know," Kurt said. "And you have a right to be. But, you know as well as I that any good relationship is based on trust and communication."

"I think I'm going to go talk with him," she said softly. "Thanks," she said, turning towards Kurt. "You're a saint." With that, she stood up, and walked towards the front of the jet.

"You're a priest," Angela asked, after Celeste had sat down next to Joey.

"I was," he replied, forlornly.

"Why aren't you anymore?"

"I … I don't really want to talk about it," he replied, the defensive tone in his voice unmistakable.

"Okay." She reached out, and took his hands in hers. "But, if you ever do want to," she said, half-smiling, "I'm a very good listener."

- - - -

**Canadian Rockies**

"Okay," Michael said, tensely. He was trying not to move his mouth too much, for fear of the claws at his throat cutting him. "My name is Michael … Michael Corvin." He gestured with his eyes towards the woman under the blankets. "That's Selene."

"That's a start," Logan snarled. "Now, what the hell are you?"

"She's a vampire.…"

"We already know that," Jean said, her eyes blazing. "But, what are you?"

"I'm a hybrid," Michael said, trying not to swallow. "I'm half vampire, and half lycan."

"Lycan," Logan growled questioningly.

"Werewolf," Michael clarified.

"And what are you doin' here?"

Michael hesitated for a moment. "We're," he began slowly, "running."

"From what," Jean asked, standing behind Logan.

"Other vampires," he answered, eyeing the claws. "Do you think you can put me down now?"

"One more question," Logan replied. He was almost face to face with Michael, his eyes shining with intensity. "They still followin' ya?"

"No," Michael answered. "We lost them maybe a hundred miles back."

"Good," Logan said, sheathing his claws. He stepped back, and dropped Michael unceremoniously to the ground.

"Thanks," Michael, said half-heartedly. He rubbed his throat, checking for blood. Finding none, he eyed the couple in front of him. "I didn't get your names."

"I'm Jean." She pointed towards Logan. "That's my husband, Logan." She crouched down to eye level, a question suddenly coming to her. "You know, you really didn't say where you were heading, or why you were running."

"It's kind of a long story," Michael said.

"Then tell us the short version," Logan said gruffly.

Michael looked up at the other man momentarily, slightly offended. "We're involved in a war between vampires and lycans – werewolves – that's been going on for nine hundred years."

"But, why are you running," Jean asked.

"Two reasons," Michael answered. "The first is that I'm a hybrid, something that the vampires are more afraid of than any lycan." He paused, and looked towards the still unconscious Selene. "The vampire elders were so afraid of hybrids that one of them, Viktor, put his own daughter to death for marrying a lycan, and for being pregnant with a hybrid child."

"He killed her fer lovin' somebody diff'rent," Logan stated, anger rising in his voice.

"Yeah," Michael answered. "He was a bigot."

"Was," Jean asked.

"Yeah, that's the other reason we're running," he said. "Selene killed him to save me." He looked somberly at her covered form next to the couch. "He was like a father to her. But when it came down to it, he was unable to accept a vampire and a lycan being in love."

"I thought you said you were a hybrid," Logan asked, suspiciously.

"I am," Michael responded curtly. "But, I … wasn't always."

"Ya still haven't answered her first question, bub."

"Where we were going?" Michael smiled solemnly. "We had heard of a large lycan den somewhere in western North America. It was, supposedly, run by the brother of the lycan general."

"Who was that," Jean asked.

"Lucian," Michael replied. "He was Viktor's son-in-law. It was Lucian who has led the lycans during the last nine hundred years. I think that it was because of him that lycans haven't gone extinct yet."

"Vampires were hunting them to extinction," Jean asked rhetorically. Behind her, Logan growled menacingly, the thought of an extinction agenda striking a raw nerve. "Did you find where the … den … was?" It had struck a nerve with her, as well, but she hid it as well as she could.

"Yes," Michael answered. "Supposedly, it was in L.A."

"I think ya made a wrong turn, bub,"

Michael looked at the other man petulantly. "Every time we turned south, Death Dealers, over a hundred of them, would cut us off."

"Death Dealer?" Logan stared at Michael intensely, the very term provoking his already incensed temper.

"Vampire extermination squads," Michael clarified. "Every time we turned south, they corralled us north."

"Until you got here," Jean said.

"Yeah," Michael replied. He looked up at her, and then at Logan, a question forming behind his eyes. "Do you mind if I ask …," he began. He paused, casting his eyes downward. "You two are mutants, right?"

"Yeah, what about it," Logan asked, defensively. His arms were at his sides again, his hands clutched into tight fists.

"Well, the thing is…," Michael began slowly. "The thing is that Selene and I had never heard anything at all about mutants before about three months ago in London." He paused, finding something especially interesting on his hands, while trying to ignore the intense stare of the two mutants. "It was also about the same time that we met Blade, and found out that there was more than one vampire race."

- - - -

**Unknown Location**

The man sat with an open book on his lap. Before him was a small dais with a stone alter in the center. A network of small sluiceways was carved into the altar's surface, as if the tributaries to a great river. The sluiceways led to collection pools on either side of the altar. On the sides of both rectangular pools were carved symbols so worn, that they were almost smooth. Around the dais were hundreds, maybe thousands of candles, all casting an eerie light.

The effect on the room made it seem that much more the crypt it actually was.

The man turned the page in the massive tome, finding an ancient depiction of what he was looking for. Judging from the drawing, and the caption below it written in Latin, it would be a truly brutal procedure. It would take both finesse and care to keep the subject alive long enough to finish the bleeding. Luckily for us, he thought, we all have fought in enough battles to excel in both. He smiled, the low light on his Celtic features making it seem that much more predatory.

He closed the book, hearing his lieutenants come in through the door behind him. Turning, he saw his lieutenants, Claudia, a muscular blonde woman, Deacon, a slim man, but quite powerful, and Wes, a squat, but incredibly built former cat burglar. They were dragging an unmoving mass in a large burlap sack. "My Lord," Claudia began, "we found a candidate."

"Does she fit the requirements," the man asked. He stood, his eyes intense in askance.

"Yes, sire," Claudia replied. She motioned towards the other two, who emptied the sack. A teenage girl fell to the ground, naked, blindfolded, and gagged, her hands tied behind her back.

"Good," the man replied. "Put her on the altar." He turned towards Deacon and Wes. "Alert the others. Tell them that we are ready for the procedure." They nodded their heads, turning around and heading out of the room.

"Do you know what needs to be done, sire," Claudia asked, as she finished tying the girl down.

"Yes," the man replied. He walked over to the altar, removing the blindfold and gag. The girl was maybe fifteen, sixteen at most. She was attractive, if not exactly pretty. "We must remove her eyes to change form; her tongue and heart to be able to hypnotize; her lungs to become mist; her skin to resist daylight; her spinal cord to control the weather; and lastly, her blood, both as a sacrament and as that which gives us all the other abilities we await."

"Are there any special requirements, sire?"

"Yes," the man replied. "As you already know, the parts will be blended, and brewed over a fire. What you do not know is that those who wish to drink the … concoction … will have to chant the sacred spell."

"That does not seem so difficult, sire," Claudia said.

"No," he replied. "The difficult part, luckily, is made easier for us by an accompanying spell which prolongs death long enough to complete the task."

"She must be alive through the entire ordeal," Claudia asked.

"Alive … and conscious," the man replied, as his followers started flowing into the ancient crypt.


	4. Under the Cover of Night

darkstorm5000: Hey, thanks again for the review. That procedure … yeah … I agree with you on that.

Chapter Four: Under the Cover of Darkness

**North of the Jornada del Muerto, New Mexico**

"You know," Ana said, "when you said you were going to be arriving on a private plane, I thought it'd be some pond-jumping Cessna." She pointed to the jet behind Joey. "I didn't expect some suped-up military jet."

"It's nice to see you too, Ana," Joey said, holding out his hand. "How long has it been? 'Bout five years?"

"Something like that," she replied, smiling. "I'm sorry to have heard about your father," she said sincerely. "He was a good man."

"Thanks," Joey replied. "I woulda invited you to the funeral, but I didn't know how to contact you."

"It's alright," she said. "I didn't find out until I called your mother." Behind her, two men stepped out of a ranch house, and walked over to them.

"Ana," the first man asked. "Is this him?"

"Yeah," she replied. "Joey, this is Marty Childress, our resident physicist. Marty, this is Joey." She motioned towards the man on her left. "This is Brian Dyerson, the only other person to stick it out with me after the … after … after what happened."

"How's it goin'," Joey greeted the second man. He was short, and though he had a bit of a belly, he was still relatively muscular. He sported a Van Dyke, and his eyes exuded intelligence. The other man, Marty, was tall, and sinewy, with a full beard.

"We're much obliged," Marty said.

Before Joey could answer him, the others walked up behind him, taking in the three people before them. "How do you do," Scott asked, introducing the others.

"Pretty good, considering the circumstances," Ana answered.

"What exactly happened," Bishop asked, cutting to the point. He sized up the woman in front of him. Just by the way she carried herself, he could tell she had a rare toughness that few women, or men, for that matter, could ever attain. She was dressed in a pair of well-worn jeans, the knees almost white with wear, and a black sleeveless shirt that showed the barest amount of midriff. Her hair was pulled back into an incredibly tight pony tail underneath an old, black Stetson. A pair of old, scuffed cowboy boots adorned her feet. She didn't wear any makeup (though, to be honest, he didn't think she needed any), and thought that she probably wouldn't have worn it even in the most high-class setting.

"It would be better, and easier, if I were to explain that once we get to the camp," Ana replied.

"And how were you planning on getting us there," Scott asked.

"We were planning on taking horses into the Jornada."

"It'd be faster if we were to take our jet," he replied.

"True," Ana replied. She took in the plane behind him, her eyes shrewdly going over it. "We'd have to pack enough supplies; water, food, first-aid kits, tents."

"Tents," Scott asked.

"Yeah," she replied. She stared at him evenly, her eyes cool and calculating. From her set face, Scott could see she would not change her plans, even if they had not arrived. And she was also ready for an argument. "I'm not going to have the deaths of two innocent people be for nothing." She looked between the newcomers. "We found something that may very well send shockwaves throughout the scientific world."

"And what would that happen to be," Celeste asked, curiosity overwhelming her.

"It's probably better if you see it yourself," Ana replied, looking at the other woman. "I doubt you'd believe it otherwise."

"How long do you think it will take to prepare everything," Scott asked Ana, silently acquiescing to staying in the desert.

"Only a few minutes; we've already got almost everything ready," she replied. She motioned towards the ranch house. "If you'll help us, we can get the supplies loaded up real quick like."

"Yeah, we can help," Scott answered, the others already making a beeline for the entrance to the house.

- - - -

"This is where he was found," Scott asked.

"Yeah," Ana answered. They were standing in her dig site, just above one of the excavations. "I found Aaron's body down there," she pointed into the excavation. "He … uh … had his throat torn out, and … his stomach cut open."

"And, you said you saw a werewolf," Bishop asked.

"Yeah," she answered. "I was woke up in the middle of the night, maybe one, or two in the morning, by a loud … roar." She looked at them, trying to discern whether they thought her to be crazy. Seeing that they seemed to be believing her, she continued. "So, I grabbed my boots and my flashlight, and came outside to see what I'd heard. I saw Marty and Brian standing outside, too."

"It woke us up, as well," the physicist explained. "It came from over there." He pointed to an area maybe twenty feet away from the excavation.

"And did you see it," Bishop asked.

"Yeah," Ana replied. "I saw it." She looked up to Bishop, her eyes glowing with anger. "I saw its fucking face. Its fur was matted with blood."

Before Bishop could respond with another question, the three of them heard Joey yell out, "Hey, guys, come over here! I think I found something." They looked up to see him standing beyond the dig site, waving his arm. He, Celeste, Kurt, and Angela were looking for tracks, blood spoor, hair, anything that would show that there had been something there. They'd started at the excavation, and had fanned out from there. They were now almost a hundred feet away.

"What do you think it is," Ana asked.

"We don't know," Scott asked, as he started moving towards Joey.

When they got to where Joey was standing, the others had already arrived. They found Celeste crouched on the ground, holding what looked to be a shiny, black stick. It was maybe a foot long, the ends of it wider than the center, almost like a long bone. At one end, it looked as if it had been almost ripped off of a tree, pieces of the …bark sticking out at awkward angles. At the other end was a single thorn, almost claw-like in appearance. On either side of the thorn, there were fleshy wounds that seemed to indicate that whatever had been there, had been yanked off incredibly violently. As they watched, Celeste turned the … stick so she could look at one of the ends. But, as she did so, a watery, red-orange liquid ran out onto the ground.

"My God," Brian exclaimed, "what the hell is that smell?" He pulled the front of his T-shirt over his nose, the smell almost making him gag.

"It smells like," Ana began, crouching down next to Celeste. "It smells like …"

"Like rotting fish," Celeste finished. She examined where the liquid had fallen, trying desperately to ignore the smell.

"Exactly," Ana replied. She, too, was looking at the spot where the liquid had fallen. She wasn't quite sure what it was, but it kind of looked like ….

She and Celeste both stood up suddenly, looking at each other. "It can't be," Celeste said.

"But, if it is, then its never been discovered," Ana replied.

"But, it wouldn't be able to survive to be this big, let alone walk at this size," Celeste countered.

"True," Ana acquiesced. She stood for a moment contemplating the shaft in Celeste's hands. "What if it is something else, something that we've never seen before?"

"I suppose that's possible," Celeste answered thoughtfully.

"Okay, what are you two talking about," Scott asked, thoroughly lost.

"We think we know what this is," Ana answered.

"We think it's a part of a leg," Celeste said.

"The leg of what," Joey asked.

"The leg of an insectoid," Celeste replied.

"An insectoid," he repeated softly. He seemed to digest this for a moment, and then asked, "So, you mean this was a part of a giant cockroach?"

"Maybe," she answered. "But, I won't know until I do some tests on it." She held it away from her body, and parallel with the ground so any excess blood wouldn't come spilling out. "I need to take it back to the mini-lab I've got on the jet."

- - - -

It was dusk by the time Celeste finished analyzing the partial leg. Walking out of the jet, she turned her flashlight on, and headed towards the fire where the others were sitting. Incredible, she thought, thinking over what she had discovered about the organism the leg belonged to. It she was correct, it was a previously unknown genus. Normally, the idea of discovering anything new would have had her absolutely giddy with excitement. But, for some reason, she had her reservations about what Joey had discovered. Something seemed to just … be totally wrong about it. But, it was more an intuition than actual observation. Something about the idea of that arm resting in the jet unsettled her stomach.

As she neared the others, though, she pushed her doubts aside. They were depending on her to give them the facts, and that was what she planned to do. "So what is it," Joey asked, as she entered the light of the fire.

"To be honest," Celeste replied, grimacing, "I don't really know."

"Then, how about a ballpark," Scott inquired.

"Well," she replied. "It's definitely insectoid. The exterior of the arm was covered in a soft, but durable layer of tissue. It was akin to the skin of a whale, or porpoise. Just below that, was a thick, extremely hard, non-chitinous exoskeleton."

"Non-chitinous," Scott asked.

"Yes," Celeste replied. "All arthropods, that is insects, spiders, crustaceans, etcetera, all have exoskeletons of chitin." She scratched her head, her face puzzled. "But, this, it didn't have chitin at all. In fact, its shell, if you will, was made of a polymer that I've never seen before."

The previously quiet Brian, sitting on the other side of the fire, looked up at her. "So you have no idea what this was a part of?"

"No," Celeste replied. "No idea whatsoever." Brian seemed content at that, and went back to studying the book he had with him.

"Let me ask," Ana began, as Celeste sat down between her and Joey, "what you have your degrees in?"

"You really want to know," the other woman asked, looking the slightest bit sheepish.

"Of course," Ana replied. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know."

Celeste shrugged. "I have a PhD in biomechanical engineering, and master's degrees in comparative anatomy and physiology, and biochemistry."

"Hmm," Ana replied. "Maybe I shouldn't have asked," she added, facetiously.

"No," Celeste replied, smiling. "Maybe you shouldn't have." She breathed in the cool, desert night air. Looking at the fire, she let her mind wander. After a moment, she turned towards Ana. "You know, I understand why you're here." She looked towards Marty, who was animatedly talking with Kurt. Apparently, the physicist was trying to determine exactly how Kurt was able to teleport. "And I understand why he's here." She looked towards Brian, who was still studying his book, and ignoring everyone else. "But, I don't know why he's here."

Ana smiled slightly. "Aaron and Brian were best friends. They go back to their freshman year as undergrads. Aaron had been a nerdy kid who had too much nervous energy. Brian was a black kid from Queens with a penchant for country music. They became best of friends almost immediately."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Ana replied. "In fact, Aaron was going to be Brian's best man…." She looked at him, studying his book silently. "But, he hasn't said much since we found Aaron's body. From what he's said to me, it seems almost as if he blames himself."

"Any idea why," Celeste asked.

"No." Ana looked at Celeste, the fire casting her face in an eerie light. "But, when I tried to ask him, he shut down, and didn't say anything."

"Interesting," Celeste murmured. She looked around camp, watching as Angela sat down opposite Kurt. Not for the first time, Celeste wondered if he realized that she had, to put it mildly, a bit of a crush on him. Maybe it's more than that, she thought. She turned her head, catching movement out of her eye. It was Scott, walking near the very edge of the light of the fire. He had adamantly insisted that they set up a watch throughout the night. Right now, he and Bishop were patrolling the outskirts of camp. She thought it was just another example of Scott's super anal retentiveness taking over again. But, looking at them, she remembered something the Ana had said earlier. "Wasn't there something that you wanted to show us," Celeste asked, turning towards the other woman.

"Yes," Ana replied tentatively. "But, let us leave that business for the morning."

"Okay," Celeste replied, casually. Once again, her attention was drawn towards Scott and Bishop. She yawned, looking at them, her eyes watering. No sense postponing the inevitable, she thought. "I suppose I should get to sleep," she told Ana. "I should get some sleep before my watch."

- - - -

What woke her up was the massive hand over her mouth. Waking almost instantly, she stifled the shock of being surprised when she saw Joey standing over her. His face, his mannerisms, even, seemed to suggest he was suddenly on edge. She lowered her brow. "Is it my watch already," she half-yawned.

He shook his head stoically. No. He put his finger over his mouth – he was telling her to be quiet.

Again, she lowered her brow questioningly. Something didn't seem quite right; Joey was rarely ever this quiet.

He kneeled down to her level, and his mouth coming within an inch of her ear. "We've got company," he whispered harshly.

Adrenaline raced through her system, her breath catching in her chest, as she hurriedly got out of her sleeping bag, and put on her shoes. Without giving it a second thought, she changed into her malleable form, dull blue light radiating from her skin as she did. She followed Joey outside, the air cooler than what it had been when she went to sleep. Looking up at the sky, she saw the false dawn of early morning.

"What happened," she whispered to Joey.

"Me an' Scott heard heavy footsteps outside camp," he said. He led her to where the others were gathered, pointing out an odd-looking track along the way. "Whatever is making the footsteps," he explained, "also came running through the camp less than five minutes ago."

She stiffened, hearing what he said. "And neither of you got a good look at it?"

"No," he replied. "Whatever it was, it moved pretty damn fast." As they approached the others, they saw Angela take to the air as quietly as she could.

"I just asked Angela to do some aerial reconnaissance," Scott said softly. "She should be back in a few minutes."

"What's going on," Ana asked. Standing next to Marty, she happened to notice a small tattoo on his right shoulder. It was a small quarter circle, with … a massive bonfire in the middle.

"Something ran through camp," Scott replied. "Something that was big, and on two legs."

"But, you don't know what," the normally quiet Brian asked.

"No," Scott answered. "Not yet." As he finished speaking, Angela landed, a grim expression on her face. "Do you have any idea what or where they are?"

"I don't know what they are," she replied. "But, as far as where they are, that's the wrong question." She leaned in, almost conspiratorially. "The question should be: where aren't they?"

"How many?"

"Thousands, and they're all around us, circling in," Angela replied.

"Did you get a good look at them," Scott asked.

"No." Her wings were extended in apprehension, great white curtains that seemed to make her a massive bird of prey. "I only saw them because moonlight seems to be reflecting off of their … hides."

He nodded slightly, weighing the options behind his stoic countenance. "Kurt? Can you teleport me to the jet?"

"_Ja_," Kurt replied. "Of course." He took a hold of Scott, the both of them disappearing with the sound of gas rushing into a vacuum, and a dark, sulfurous cloud.

They reappeared a moment later, inside the jet. Scott took a step back, battling nausea, and trying to get the smell of brimstone out of his nose. "We're going to get out of here," Scott told him. "Get the others." As Kurt teleported away, Scott turned towards the front of the plane. Taking the pilot's seat, he happened to notice a flashing light telling him the computer had recorded a message from one of the other X-Men. Curious, he decided to play the message.

Immediately static filled his ears, the reception obviously not all that great. "This is Wolverine to any X-Men…." The message turned to static again, the signal going in and out. "We're in L.A." … more static … "the middle of a war zone. …Need backup … me an' Jeannie're in … zone …. Repeat … need backup." Throughout the message, Logan had been breathing hard, his voice haggard from overuse. But, Logan must have left the communicator on, as, in the background, Scott heard an inhuman roar. And it wasn't Logan. Or Jean. Gunshots echoed through the speakers; the blasts so close, they hurt his ears. And then, despite the static, Scott heard Logan growl, so loud it was as if he was yelling in his ear, "It'll take more than silver bullets ta keep me down." Then, he heard Logan's roar, followed then by another. It wasn't the same one he'd heard before, and it wasn't Logan's. With a shock, he realized it had to have been Jean. The message continued on for a few more moments, screams of pain echoing out as Logan and Jean attacked … something.

Kurt teleported in behind him, the distinctive sound startling him – making him jump. He turned around, seeing Kurt standing next to Celeste. "Kurt, you…" Before he could even finish his sentence, the entire jet shuddered violently, sending them all crashing to their knees. "What was that?" As if in answer, the jet shuddered again, this time the sound of metal screeching against metal sending goosebumps down his back.

"My God," Celeste exclaimed. "That was the fucking wing!"

"What," Scott asked, almost yelling.

"I think something's trying to tear off the fucking wing." The jet shuddered again, the metal screeching much louder. "And doing a right good job of it."

"Open the hatch," Scott said. "We need to stop this thing, whatever it is, from destroying the jet." He motioned her forward. She cautiously started opening the door, her back to the wall beside it. Turning the handle, she nodded towards Cyclops, who nodded back. With a sudden, heaving force, she thrust the door outward into the night air to discover … nothing. "What's going on here," Cyclops asked, looking out the door. Looking back at the wing, he saw that something seemed to have literally pulled the wing half off.

Suddenly, it occurred to him that he should be able to see something. From his vantage, he could see almost the entire side of the jet except … above and below him. He jumped back with the realization, just in time to avoid a large, clawed hand lash out where his stomach had been just seconds before. Had it not been for the realization, he thought surreally, he'd be wearing his guts for garters.

Whatever was attached to the other side of the black, clawed hand started pulling itself up into the jet. As the thing came into view in all its glory, Cyclops couldn't help but reminded of the creatures from the "Alien" movies. The thing in front of them had a long, black head, its mouth set with two-inch long, razor sharp teeth. Its eyes were small, brown, and beady, exuding malice. The back of its head separated into two massive bony frills. They curved upward, almost making the creature look as if it had an atrocity of a crown. On either side of its lower jaws were ash-gray, six inch tusks that seemed sharpened to points. Its hands were thick, and strong, with massive talons at the ends of the digits. Its clawed feet dug into the metal beneath it, metal screeching in protest as it deformed. Its entire body seemed to glisten with water … or mucus.

Cyclops stepped back from the thing standing in the doorway, momentarily surprised. The creature bared its teeth, and growled. Suddenly, the tusks extended forward with a wet, unsheathing sound. They had extended from their original six inches to an impressive two feet. The creature roared … almost victoriously, shaking its head from side to side; impressive considering the elephantine pieces of bone sticking out of its head. The sudden sound spurred the X-Man into action. As the creature lowered its head, Cyclops raised his hand to his visor, and fired a powerful optic blast. With the force of a speeding train, the creature crashed through the open door of the jet, a sofa-sized piece of the wall going with it.

"What was that thing," Shift asked.

"I don't know," Cyclops answered, walking towards the door. "But, there's an awful lot more of them." He pointed to the area near the wing, several dark shapes moving about, the slightest reflection being cast off from their skins. "Kurt, contact the mansion. Tell them we need help."

The smaller man sat down in the cockpit, turning on the radio. Before he could start tuning it, though, he heard a loud thump behind him, followed by Shift yelling, "Nightcrawler, look out!" He looked behind him, only to see Cyclops sitting against the wall of the jet, holding his head. But, even more alarming, another creature was charging, its tusks fully extended, and was almost upon him. He teleported out of the way, leaving his trademark sulfurous smoke. Reappearing behind it, he was just in time to see its tusks fully sink into the consoles. Suddenly, a pair of clay-colored tentacles shot forward, and started wrapping themselves around the creature.

"Let's see how you like being a pimple," Shift exclaimed coldly. Her tentacles shifted, and began coiling tighter. Like a massive python around its prey, she began tightening the coils, faint cracking sounds resounding through the cabin. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, a much louder cracking sound resonated throughout the small space, followed by a fountain of red-orange gore that exploded through the creature's skull.

"Did you have to do that inside the jet," Cyclops asked irritably. The … fountain of gore had made a massive, dripping stain on the roof of the cabin. Holding his head, he stepped carefully forward, trying to avoid the largest puddles of viscera.

"Would you've preferred I'd let him destroy the jet," she shot back, almost slipping in the blood. "Christ," she exclaimed. "And I thought that little bit smelled horrible."

Cyclops did his best to ignore the smell, which, in his opinion, was a colossal feat in and of itself. He noticed Nightcrawler seemed a little green, holding the back of his hand to his mouth. He moved cautiously towards the controls, cognizant not only of what he was stepping in, but also that there were still creatures outside the jet, doing who knew what. As he reached the controls, he frowned at what he saw. "Damn," he cursed silently, hanging his head.

"What is it," Kurt asked, stepping gingerly behind him.

"That … creature," he began, "it destroyed the radio controls. We're not going to be able to contact the mansion."

"What about the homing beacon," Celeste asked, holding her shirt over her nose.

"What homing beacon," Scott asked.

"The new GPS-linked homing beacon me and Hank installed – what? Two weeks ago," she asked.

Behind his visor, Scott seemed to be boring holes through her. "You neglected to mention that to us."

"Oh." Celeste moved cautiously over the stinking guts, not wanting to get any more smell on her. "It's right here," she said, flicking a switch to the left of the pilot's seat. Almost immediately, the light above it began flashing, indicating the beacon was transmitting.

"And they'll get that at the mansion," Scott asked.

"Yes," Celeste said, "assuming that all's well."

"Good," Scott nodded slightly. "Now, let's get back to the others."

"We're not staying here," Celeste asked, slightly surprised.

"No," Scott replied. "It would be too hard to defend the jet." He looked between Kurt and Celeste. "Besides, if there are as many as Angela thought, we're going to need the room to fight."

"Thanks for the comforting words, One-Eye," she replied sarcastically, as both she and Kurt disappeared in a cloud of dark, sulfurous gas.

- - - -

Scott and Kurt appeared suddenly, just a few feet from the fire. Around the fire, the others had gathered, obviously waiting for the plan.

"So what are we going to do," Bishop asked.

"We're going to have to fight here; we're not going to have much more a choice."

The bigger man frowned at this, but didn't say anything. He didn't want to say anything, but he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they would be lucky to survive.

"Bishop, Angela, and myself are going to keep as many of them from getting up close. Celeste, Kurt, and Joey are going to take down as many as they can that get past us. Which only leaves you three." Scott motioned towards Ana, Marty, and Brian.

"You don't have to worry about me and Brian," Marty said.

"Why's that," Ana asked.

"Let's just say I have a few … tricks up my sleeves."

"And Brian," Ana asked. She didn't bother to ask any more of Marty. Though she trusted him completely, he shared little of his life outside of his work. He'd even been known to skirt topic altogether.

"Let's just say I never thought I'd go down in a hail of blood and glory," Brian said.

"How did you think you were going to die," Ana asked, unable to resist.

He smiled wryly. "I always thought I'd get killed by a silver bullet."

- - - -

**Canadian Rockies, Three Days Earlier**

Logan stood on the small front porch, smoking a cigar. The cool night air was refreshing against his face, invigorating his very being. He looked up at the cloudless sky, and the fields upon fields of bright stars. He looked through the window into the cabin, and saw Jean, Michael, and Selene were preparing for the trip they were about to make. In a couple of minutes, he knew, Jean was going to get him to come back in, to help them. But, for the moment, he enjoyed the momentary lapse in his sense of smell that accompanied each inhalation of smoke.

Selene, as it turned out, had awakened just before dusk. When she was hurt, she and Michael had been driving on the road, going too fast when the snow had begun to fall. They'd hit a patch of black ice, and had swerved off the road, hitting a tree. Michael had been the lucky one; his seat airbag had gone off the moment they hit. Selene, though, had not had her seat belt on, and her airbag hadn't deployed. As it was, she went flying through the windshield, barely missing the tree herself. When Michael had finally come to his senses, he stumbled out of the car, and half-crawled, half-walked his way to Selene. A massive shard of glass had speared her in her left shoulder, just inches from her heart; it was a miracle she was still alive.

Michael had picked her up, and carried her the eight miles from the main road to the cabin. It was, he had explained, the second time he had saved her after a car crash.

And now, he and Jean had agreed to take the two of them to L.A. He wasn't exactly happy about it, but he had agreed nonetheless. Jean had said she'd known he'd agree, though she didn't say why. It was surreal to realize someone else knew you better than yourself.

"Logan," Jean asked, stepping outside. "Are you almost ready?"

"Yeah," he replied, putting out his cigar. And that was when he heard it: carried by the wind, a soft, almost inaudible humming.

"Logan, what is that?" He wasn't quite sure, but it almost sounded like…. He turned to her to answer, and saw, to his surprise, her forehead was painted with a red dot, just below her hairline. Before he could warn her, her head rocked back with a sudden, vicious metallic clang. A strip of her scalp tore off from her forehead to the back of her skull, exposing eerily shiny bone. She collapsed heavily, unconscious, a stream of metallic liquid flowing from the wound.


	5. Angel and Demon

AN: Sorry for the delay – I got really, really busy this past month with all kinds of things.…

Angel and Demon

"Jeannie," Logan cried, falling to his knees beside her. He wiped some of the metallic liquid off of her face, and saw that it had taken a strip of her scalp. The force from the shot had rocked her brain around, knocking her out. But, he could tell that she was already starting to heal; it would only take a few minute for her to get back on her feet.

"What happened," Michael asked, stepping quickly out of the cabin, and crouching down next to Jean.

"She was shot," Logan replied testily. As if on cue, another bullet whizzed past him, so close, he felt the air it displaced. Without so much as a thought, he turned, and reached out his hand, creating a TK shield. A flurry of bullets suddenly collided with the shield, the sound more than a little reminiscent of heavy rain on a metal roof. Logan noted wryly that none of the bullets were aimed at him.

"What the hell's going on," Michael exclaimed. His eyes were wide with the shocking realization that all that had stopped the bullets was a shield made of nothing more than energy.

"You were followed," Logan snarled, glaring at the other man out of the corner of his eye. He nodded towards Jean. "Get her inside."

"What," Michael asked, drawing his brows. "How?"

"Maybe ya didn't lose 'em like you thought ya did," Logan growled. "Now, get Jean inside, and stay low."

"Wait," Michael yelled, dragging Jean over the threshold. "What are you gonna do?" As Logan turned towards him, his eyes alight, Michael happened to notice with an odd sense of detachment that his canines were longer than what they should have been. He wondered if he really was human.

"What I'm best at," Logan replied, lowering his hand, and running into the night.

"What just happened," Selene asked, as Michael closed the door.

"I think," he began slowly, "I think she was just shot in the head."

"Then, she should be dead. Even the Elders would have been killed by a bullet to the head."

"I know," Michael replied, cleaning Jean's face. He noticed, with shock, that what he had originally taken as colloidal silver on her scalp was actually a part of her skull. "I think her bones might be metal-plated." He motioned for her to come over, pointing at the ragged edge of Jean's scalp.

"How could that happen," Selene asked, her brows drawn together.

"I'm not sure," Michael confessed.

Selene looked up from where Michael was crouching, and looking around, realized someone wasn't there. "Where's Logan?"

"He …," Michael began, "he ran into the forest."

"You let him go alone?"

"I don't think I would have been able to stop him," Michael replied.

"No," Selene agreed. She turned on her heels, and started towards the door.

"What are you doing," he asked.

"I'm going to help him," she replied. "We got them into this. The least we should do is help them."

"Let me go," Michael said resolutely.

"No," Selene responded. "You're the only doctor here, and she might need your help." And with that, she turned, and walked out the door.

- - - -

Selene stepped carefully outside of the cabin, eyeing the tree line. She slowly moved off the porch, expecting almost anything. Suddenly, above her head, she heard a loud splintering. Half-turning, she saw a luminescent blue gel oozing out of one of wooden beams supporting the porch. Without a second thought, she leapt off the ground, and started running at full tilt. Almost as if from another world, she heard her feet crunching through the snow, and odd, quick tugs on her coat.

She ran into the forest, leaning against a tree several hundred feet past the tree line. She sighed, relieved she'd gotten past the open area. She examined her coat, curious as to what the tugs had been. She took in a sharp breath, finding that the tugs had been bullets hitting the tails of her coat. She realized that, had she run just a little slower, she would have been nothing but ash.

Forcing herself to calm down, she looked down to the ground beneath her, realizing she hadn't followed Logan's trail into the forest. "Damn," she muttered softly, looking at her surroundings. From what she had seen, Logan knew a thing or two about combat. That being a given, she thought that he would probably take out the Death Dealers (she had no doubt that was who she was dealing with) quickly, and quietly. And, he would probably take out those that posed the greatest threat first.

With that, she turned to her left, taking out of one of her trusty Berettas. She then began moving slowly and cautiously towards where she suspected the snipers had made their nests.

- - - -

Michael watched, with horror that turned to surprise, as Jean's wound began to heal. He leaned closer to her, detached academic curiosity taking the better of him. Her skin, he noticed, seemed to almost be knitting together. It was a little disconcerting, he realized, to see a wound heal before your eyes.

She woke up suddenly, her eyes momentarily blank with confusion. The blank stare faded, followed by an intense headache. Jean rubbed her temple, just as the headache, which had come on so suddenly, faded to nothingness. It seems there are perks to having a healing factor, she thought. She sat up, and noticed Michael staring at her. "What is it," she asked.

Speechless, he only pointed to her scalp with a trembling finger. Raising her hand to where Michael had indicated, she felt new, soft flesh beneath her fingers. It was warm to the touch; the skin was flushed with excess blood from healing. Running her fingers over the newly healed area, she could feel a stubble of red fuzz that would be eventually be her hair.

"What exactly is your mutation," Michael asked, still awestruck.

"Originally," she asked in response. He nodded almost imperceptibly. "Originally, I was a telepath and a telekinetic. But, a couple of months ago, I gained Logan's abilities in addition to my own, and vice versa."

"So that was what he did to me earlier, … and what he did to stop the bullets." Jean nodded in response. Michael lowered his brows, seemingly considering something. "So, does that mean you have …," he paused, not knowing how to phrase it.

"Claws?" She clenched her fists, and with a sound like a sword being drawn from a scabbard, three claws emerged. Like Logan's, the silver metal gleamed with unspoken malice.

"Remind me to never get into a fight with either of you," he said, semi-facetiously.

She opened her mouth to respond before getting a faraway look in her eyes. When it faded, she looked towards Michael, and said, "We have to go, now."

- - - -

Selene couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched. After fighting an underground war for over a century, she had long ago developed a sixth sense for when she was being watched. Her senses were on full alert, making her ready for almost anything. That was why she was surprised when she heard the cocking of a gun behind her. "Put your hands up, and throw away the gun," she heard a rough male voice say behind her. Raising her hands slowly, she threw the gun a short distance away. She hoped the Death Dealer behind her didn't notice that it was less than a body length away.

"Nice try," the voice said sarcastically, with a distinctive Russian accent. Her hope evaporated into nothingness at hearing his voice. "Now, since you are not planning on being a good little vampire, why don't you turn around … slowly. And keep your hands up!" She slowly turned, gritting her teeth, and chastising herself for being so careless. She should have known they would have someone watching.

When she was fully turned around, she finally caught sight of the man. He was tall, over six foot, with a full mustache and beard that came to two braided points. He seemed to be dressed in wolf skins, gray fur hanging in layers. He had a gun in his hands she'd never seen before, with one barrel for bullets, and the other for explosive rounds, possibly grenades. She could make out the end of a hilt just poking out from under his coat on his right hip. And, if she was not mistaken, he had something on his left hip, as well.

"Now," the man said, "why don't you throw away that other gun of yours?" Keeping one hand raised, she began reaching under her leather duster for her other gun. "Two fingers," the man yelled. She took her other Beretta out with two fingers, still chastising herself. "Now throw it away. And don't play with me! Throw it further this time, or you'll get a UV bullet straight up the ass!" Gritting her teeth, she complied. "Good," the man said. "So, you would be the great Selene," he murmured, eyeing her appraisingly. "I must say, I am not impressed."

"And who would you be," she asked coolly.

"I'm surprised you didn't already know," he replied, with sadistic glee. "But since you asked so politely … my name is Ivan Korkov."

"Ivan Korkov," she repeated, a cold lump settling in her stomach. It was no wonder she hadn't known he was watching her. Ivan Korkov, better known as Ivan the Hunter, was a legendary Death Dealer. It was thought that he was born during the time of Catherine the Great, but no one was sure. He had a reputation as being ruthlessly sadistic, and incredibly lethal. He was known to the lycans as the Butcher of Paris, as he had almost single-handedly wiped out a den there in the 1800s. For many years, the most gifted, and promising young vampires would go to him for training to become Death Dealers. But, he had not been heard from for over a century. Some had thought he was dead. Apparently they were mistaken.

"So you have heard of me," Ivan replied. "Good. Then you should not be angry at yourself for not having known where I was. Alas, that the great Selene, so well-praised by Viktor himself, should fall before the Hunter."

"And you have heard of me," Selene responded, hoping to buy herself some time. She could have sworn she'd seen movement in the trees to Karkov's right.

"Of course," he replied. "The renowned Death Dealer who not only rutted with a filthy animal, but also killed an Elder in the process. Who hasn't heard of you?" He chuckled to himself. "You and your lover have been the topic of much speculation since you both disappeared from Budapest."

"How comforting to know that we are famous," she acerbically replied.

"I should have hoped so," Karkov responded. "Now, I am truly sorry, one warrior to another, but it is time for you to die." He raised his gun to eye level, and placed his finger on the trigger. Suddenly, a glint of silver, followed by a growling blur, flashed before her eyes. Following its path, she was surprised to see Logan standing on the other side of her, his arms wide, his claws unsheathed. At his feet was most of the barrel of the gun Karkov had been holding just moments before.

"Not today, bub," Logan snarled. His clothes were bloody, tears and holes decorating them almost at random.

"And who might you be," Karkov asked coldly, trying to keep his eyes on both at the same time.

"Yer worst nightmare, bub," Logan answered. And with that, he launched forward in a sudden attack, kicking Karkov in the temple with a singular, surgical strike. The vampire sagged to the ground, immediately unconscious. Turning to Selene, Logan said, "We gotta move out now."

"Why," she asked, picking up her trusty Berettas. "What's going on?"

"There's another squad of yer friends comin', over a hundred strong." He grimaced, sheathing his claws. "Me an' Jeannie'd survive the fight. … I ain't too sure about you an' Michael."

She considered that quietly, trying not to be insulted. He did have a point, after all. Twenty-five to one, she realized, really wasn't the best of odds, even considering the training she had. And Michael … he was fast, and strong, but he didn't have the experience to be able to fight those odds. "So, what's the plan?"

"We take ya to yer den." He motioned over her shoulder. "There's a van, about a half mile from here, that's UV protected. It's what the first team used."

"And how do you know all of this," she asked.

"I got ways of persuadin' people," he replied, grinning slightly. "We should start headin' there now, before it's too late."

"What about Michael and Jean?"

"They should already be there."

"Really," Selene asked. "How?"

"The good thing about telekinesis," Logan explained, walking past her, "is it lets you fly."

- - - -

**Jornada del Muerto – Three Days Later**

"I always thought I'd get killed by a silver bullet."

"What," Ana asked quietly. Her eyes widened in surprise, before her brows knitted in anger. "It was you," she said with a chilling ferocity. "_Chingón!_ You murdered your best friend," she screamed stomping towards him. Her fists were clutched at her sides, the taught tendons testament to their strength. "Why? Why'd you kill him?" Her entire body was rigid with white-hot, venomous rage. "Were you hungry? Is that it? Not enough sheep around?"

"Ana," Marty interjected, placing himself between her, and Bryan. "Now's not the time for this."

"Fuck you," she said, her anger turning suddenly on Marty. "If not now, when?"

"He's right, Ana," Joey said. "Now's not the time for this; we need every able body to fight."

Before Ana could reply to Joey, Bryan said quietly, but confidently, "I didn't kill Aaron."

"You'd say anything to save your hide," she sneered.

"It's true, Ana," Marty said quietly. "He didn't kill Aaron."

"And how do you know?"

"Because I was there, as well."

"Fine," she replied, her eyes still aflame. "Then what killed Aaron?"

"It was one of those things," Bryan replied. "It attacked Aaron when he was finishing with a tarp over one of the finds. I was with him, and Marty was maybe twenty yards away. Me and Marty killed it; that's where the piece of arm came from."

"Okay," she said slowly, piecing it together in her mind. "Fine, I can understand how you were able to fight it. But, how about Marty?"

"Well, he's a member of the …," Bryan began, realizing too late he had said too much.

Marty looked at Bryan, squinting his eyes ever so slightly. He sighed, "I suppose it was going to come out sooner or later, especially considering everything that's happening." He looked over his shoulders, shocked too see just how far the creatures had advanced. "Hold that thought." He turned, and took several steps towards the advancing wall of creatures. He spread his arms wide, and as he did so, Ana couldn't help but notice that his tattoo seemed to come alive. The fire, in fact, seemed to almost be three-dimensional; embers seemingly sparking off of his skin. Marty closed his arms with a sudden movement, fire sparking to life around his hands. As his hands met in front of his body, a stream of fire shot forth, encircling the entire camp.

"Who … or what are you," Cyclops asked, eyeing the oncoming creatures. They seemed to have stopped, and, if he was not mistaken, they were studying the ring of fire three feet above the ground. In the orange glow, they seemed that much more nightmarish.

"As I was saying," Marty began, "I'm a member of the Order."

"The order," Cyclops asked.

"The Order of the Elements," Marty explained.

"What the hell is that," Ana asked. "And since when can you control fire?"

"I'll answer your questions in the morning," he said, "if we live that long."

"Hmm," Shift murmured behind him. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but that … ring of fire isn't going to last that long, is it?"

"No," Marty replied. "It'll last for about fifteen, twenty minutes. But, it can only prevent, at the most, ten to twenty of the creatures from crossing at a time. Any more than that, and I'm afraid it'll collapse." As he finished speaking, several of the creatures charged the camp. As they reached the fire ring, massive flares swelled up to meet them. The people closest to the flares backed away, the sudden, intense heat flushing their skin.

"Before that collapses," Ana said quietly, "I'm going to need a weapon." She had realized that, unlike what she thought earlier, she was the only one without a … unique way to defend herself. "I don't want to hamper anyone else's movement. And, we're going to need everyone to fight these things off."

"I might have something for you," Shift replied. She went to her tent, keeping an eye on the creatures that were charging the perimeter. She took out the metal case that had the prototype nanobot suit. "Here," she said, squatting in front of Ana. Opening the case, she handed Ana two metal bracelets. "Put these on your wrists."

"Is that it," Ana asked, clasping the metal bands.

"Not quite," Shift replied, taking out a small remote control. Pointing it in the direction of Ana, she pressed a green button with the word "Activate" beside it.

Ana looked down to the bracelets to find that they were glowing slightly. The soft glow began moving over her skin, first over her hands, then up her arms. She realized that wherever the glow touched, that part of her body became numb, and heavy. She was obliged to drop her arms to her sides as if nothing more than slabs of meat. The glow reached her chest, her heart skipping a beat as she realized she could no longer feel herself breathing. She panicked, feeling as if she was drowning. She tried to scream, but with a sudden horror realized she could not. Her legs were numb, and now, the glow was coming towards her eyes. With gruesome clarity, she realized she was going to die.…

- - - -

Blackness.

She could see nothing, hear nothing. She could feel nothing; if nothing else, she seemed to be weightless. But, if she was, she couldn't tell. She asked herself, surreally, am i moving my lips? my arms? Am I talking, or am i thinking? She didn't know. Her mind seemed to drift to Descartes' philosophy: _Cogito ergo sum_. I think, therefore I am. Did that mean she was dead or alive? Neither?

She seemed to drift for an eternity, or perhaps it was less than a picosecond (she couldn't tell – what was time without the ability to sense it?). She began to question her sanity (and her consciousness – did she think because she existed, or did she exist because she thought). Suddenly, she saw a cursor – a green computer cursor blinking in front of her (eyes?). It seemed that no matter which direction she turned, she saw it right in front of her (though, it was up for debate whether she was actually turning or not.)

Suddenly, words appeared after the cursor:

Welcome to the Nanorobotic Personal Defense System (NanPeDSys)

The sentence disappeared, the cursor blinking several times. A new sentence appeared:

Initiating host – system bonding.…

This was followed by several more sentences, one after another, that freaked her out more than she liked to admit.

Nervous system bonding … complete.

Cardiopulmonary system bonding … complete.

Gastrointestinal system bonding … complete.

Musculoskeletal system bonding … complete.

Other organ system(s) bonding … complete.

Host – system bonding … complete.

Again, the cursor blinked several times, the computer apparently thinking. Finally, a new sentence appeared.

Initiating sensory input …

Suddenly, her ears were filled with sound. It was, she thought, almost like listening to a recording at a much slower speed. She thought she heard a voice, but it was too deep and muffled to tell. She could see again, but what she saw was blurry, like looking through a massively wrong eyeglass prescription. She thought she saw the ring of fire, but wasn't certain. She felt a massive weight on her body, as if she was carrying another two hundred pounds. The smell of rotting fish was suddenly so strong, she could taste bile at the back of her throat. But, it was still better than what she had felt like beforehand. Another sentence appeared.

Calibrating taste … touch … smell input … complete.

The weight was suddenly removed from her body, and the rotting fish smell was no where near as bad as it had been.

Calibrating auditory input … complete.

She suddenly heard Joey mumbling, "She looks like a female version of Sybre."

Calibrating visual matrix … complete.

She suddenly saw the ring of fire in front of her, and the creatures just beyond.

- - - -

"How long have I been out of it," Ana asked, slightly bewildered.

"About ten seconds," Shift answered, closing the metal case.

"That's it," Ana asked, incredulously.

"That's it," the other woman replied. "Now, this remote," Shift said, motioning to control in her hand, "is the only thing that can undo the bonding." She handed it to Ana. "If anything happens to it, you'll be stuck as a cyborg."

"I'll be sure to keep it safe." Suddenly, in her peripheral vision, she saw several flare-ups of the fire ring. But, … when the bright light dissipated, she saw, to her surprise and horror, that half a dozen creatures had made it past the fiery circle. She saw Cyclops, reacting almost immediately, take a knee, and unleash a massive blast of crimson energy. The creatures seemed to literally split apart from the force of the blast, their top halves vaporizing.

To her right, there was another massive flare-up. More creatures started to pass the circle. A stream of fire met those first in the group, as Marty let loose with a roiling torrent that lit the night with angry orange light. Those creatures that had entered the ring after the burning ones started fanning out, trying to avoid Marty's stream. Several of the creatures' heads exploded in fine, orange mists with an abrupt brutality. She turned her head further, to see Bishop firing round after round from the large gun in his hands. Without warning, one of the creatures lunged for his gun, tearing it from his grasp. Angrily, the big man unleashed a blast of energy from his fists at point blank range, disintegrating the front of the creature's head.

Suddenly, she felt a great weight on her back. A shiny, black, exoskeletal arm wrapped around her torso, trying to tear into the armor on her. With a strength she didn't know she had, she flipped the creature over her shoulder and onto its back. Still holding the creature's arm, she placed a foot on its shoulder, and, with all her strength, pulled upward, wrenching the creature's arm off at the shoulder. Picturing a nine inch, double edged blade coming out of her arm, she was surprised when one actually unsheathed out of her wrist. She kneeled down, and with a singular sweeping motion, cut off the creature's head. "_Madre de Díos_," she muttered to herself.

She looked up, and was shocked by what she saw. The ring of fire had failed, and creatures were starting to surge in, like water bursting through a dam. She saw Nightcrawler fighting several of the creatures. One of them charged him, its tusks fully unsheathed. The agile German easily leaped over the creature, planting his hands against its back, performed a half somersault, and donkey-kicked the creature. He landed on his hands, turning it into a handspring, and landed on his feet with a catlike grace, and a roguish smile. He's much more formidable than I thought, Ana thought to herself.

A second creature charged him, swiping at him with its claws. Nightcrawler disappeared in a cloud of smoke, and reappeared behind the creature. He grabbed a hold of the thing, and teleported again. When he reappeared, the creature had disappeared. He looked down to his hands, surprise crossing his face. He didn't have time to consider what happened, though, as the same creature from earlier attacked him again. He ducked and dodged its claws, and its tusk thrusts. He seemed to decide to try teleporting again, and grabbing the creature, disappeared. When he reappeared, once again the creature was gone. He smiled widely, showing his sharp teeth; the look was just a little dismaying.

Her attention turned to Shift, who had several dozen foot-long spikes sticking out of her body. With an almost inescapable speed, the spikes extended, piercing the same number of creatures in the middle of their chests. The spikes seemed to turn into to double-edged blades, and with a sudden twisting motion, she cut all the creatures in half. Ana noticed she had also gotten a number of other creatures with the vicious twist.

Suddenly, Ana saw Bryan fighting a creature. He had a hold of the creature's wrists, and was trying to prevent the things jaws from getting close to his head. But, he was slowly losing. Without warning, another creature impaled him on its long tusks. The change (she capitalized the word only after she thought it) occurred suddenly. The creature's wrists suddenly crunched, like a massive cockroach being crushed. Bryan's back arched, almost as if in pain, and his head started to deform; it started to elongate, the ears moving upward. Before she knew it, long, shaggy black hair had grown out over his entire body, and she saw what she had only seen once before: a werewolf, in full lupine form.

With a sudden, ferocious movement, Bryan yanked the arms off the creature, as if nothing more than a fly. His massive paws moved to the creature behind him, whose tusks had speared him. The paws enclosed on the tusks, and with a powerful twisting motion, Bryan broke them in half. Falling to his knees, he began pushing them out, bearing his teeth along the way.

Several creatures appeared, and tried to capitalize on his handicap. But, suddenly, a grey werewolf, almost twice the size of Bryan, crouched between him and the creatures. It was Joey, she realized. Three of the creatures charged him, their tusks fully extended. The first came in from his left, and swiped at him with its claws. With a massive, upwards moving backhand, Joey – Lobo – knocked the creature on its back, its head bent at an odd angle. The second and third attacked him at the same time.

The second attacked him head-on, its jaws spread wide. His claws spread wide, Lobo swiped at the creature's head. Red-orange blood covered his forearm as his clawed hand tore off the creature's face, displaying the contents of its head in a gaping, jagged hole. The third succeeded in hitting him, its elephantine tusks burying into his side, just above his kidney. He roared in fury, his jaws snapping of their own accord. Turing towards the creature, he opened his jaws wide, and with a primal brutality, crushed the creature's head. Ana winced, the crushing sound repulsively wet and loud.

Ana finally turned her attention to the winged woman, Angela. She fired a massive stream of blue energy, obliterating several of the creatures. A creature tried to jump on her back, but she reacted immediately, flapping her wings violently. The creature went flying, colliding with several dozen others, its legs and neck bent at odd angles. She turned back towards the creatures in front of her, her eyes blazing with blue energy, the inside of her mouth eerily alight. "Do NOT fuck with me," she cried, releasing another bolt of energy. One of the creatures jumped on her, trying to bring her down. Suddenly, they began to dogpile her, first five, then ten, then fifteen creatures all writhing to hurt her.

A massive, blue burst of energy suddenly erupted from under the pile, throwing bodies in every direction. Her eyes were glowing with livid energy, her teeth pulled back into a sneer. She reached out with both hands, grabbing the first creature she saw. She started squeezing, hands on either side of its head. But, where her hands wre touching the creature, … smoke was rising. "What the hell," Ana asked.

Marty must have noticed it, too, because she heard him say, "Holy shit". He rushed towards her, fire dancing in every direction around him, seemingly seeking out the creatures. "Angela," he cried, grabbing her by the arm. She wheeled on him, her fist cocked, her eyes ablaze. With her wings drawn wide, she was incredibly imposing; Marty took an involuntary step back, watching her. She seemed to recognize him after a moment, her fist falling back to her side. "I need you to repeat exactly what I say. Together, we can end this right now."

She nodded in acquiescence. "What is it you want me to say?"

He smiled, wryly, "_Secaré _Angela, _ter ce Tanare Saíthen, ce marákh! Ai malín! Varé tai!"_

Surprisingly, Angela seemed to understand. "Okay," she said. She repeated what he said, noticing that as she did so, her voice was much, much louder, as if speaking through a megaphone. She also noticed that as she spoke the word that began with an m that she had goosebumps.

The creatures seemed to understand her. If their faces could show emotion, they would have shown fear. The creatures started backing away from her, slowly, looking around warily. It almost seemed as if they were expecting something else to attack them. Slowly, they receded into the night, wary, cautious, and fearful all the way.

As the creatures finally disappeared into the night, Joey came up beside her. "What did that mean, what you said," he asked her.

"It means," Marty answered for her, "'I am Angela, of the High GuardiansYou have angered me. I shall destroy you.'"

"Then," Joey began, "maybe you can tell me what something means."

"What's that?"

"_Hesír Tanúk_. What does it mean," Joey asked, earnestly.

"It's pronounced 'Hey-sear Ta-nook'," Marty corrected. "You have to swallow the 'k'." He looked to Joey appraisingly. "Why do you want to know?"

"I had a vision where a woman called me that."

"I see," Marty replied, smiling. "Literally translated, it means Wolf King."


	6. Omniscience

Chapter 6: Omniscience

**Los Angeles – Seven hours earlier**

"Beverly Hills," Logan asked incredulously.

"Vampires," Selene began evenly, "tend to prefer the niceties of money."

He cast an eye in her direction, realizing she was leaving herself as an exception. "But, I'd have expected somethin' less … obvious."

They were staking out a mansion set back from the road. Its massive lawn was surrounded by a nine-foot tall blackened iron fence. The mansion, itself, seemed to pay homage to every creepy, gothic building from classic monster movies. In the moonless night, the house seemed to be bound tight, holding something sinister in its confines. Its brick walls seemed to ooze malevolence, keeping out anything that might somehow decrease its shadows. On the edges of the roof, stone gargoyles sat, perched as if ready to swoop down to eat the hearts of the living.

"You should have seen the manor in Budapest," Michael whispered. "It was that much more gothic."

"You were saying," Jean said, addressing Selene, "that we need to find a high-level Death Dealer?"

"Yes," she replied. "Though I doubt they would actually know where the den is, they would undoubtedly have access to the accumulated information on the lycans."

"And how are we supposed to recognize one of these Death Dealers," Logan asked, keeping an eye on the mansion.

Selene reached into her inside jacket pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. "Say hello to Richard Delacroix, head of both the Death Dealers and security for the Los Angeles coven."

Taking the picture, he saw a man with a razor-sharp nose, and hollow cheeks. His dark hair was combed painfully back, revealing an impossibly high forehead, and thin, almost feminine, eyebrows. His thin lips seemed to be pulled back into a sneer, revealing impossibly white teeth that matched his bloodless skin.

Taking the picture, Jean asked, "So how're we going to … acquire him?"

Michael answered, "One of us is going to act as a decoy to scramble their security. The other three are going to get in the mansion in the confusion, and while the security is dealing with the decoy, the other three find Delacroix."

"I'll be the decoy," Logan volunteered.

"Logan?" Jean had already known that if there was a dangerous situation, Logan would go headlong into it. She knew, just as everyone at the mansion, he tended to act as if he was indestructible. Just because he could handle pain, and could heal, didn't mean he had put himself into a situation where he would have to. It was an argument they'd had several times before.

"I'm the best choice, Jeannie," he replied. "I'm prob'ly the best trained here, and I can take a bullet." She nodded in silent acquiescence, though her mouth was still set in a grim line. She already knew she wouldn't be able to argue him out of it, and, though she didn't like to admit, he was right.

"The best approach," Selene began, "would be to get in on the top floor." She pointed to the windows on the third floor. "They keep a large distance between the fences and the house so that nothing can jump from outside onto the roof."

"But they've never considered someone floating onto the roof," Jean said.

"Exactly," Selene replied. "Make the alarm sound when you get into the mansion," she said, addressing Logan. "Breaking a window should suffice. If not, make as much noise as possible."

"No problem," Logan replied.

"Take out as many Death Dealers as you can, to keep our path as clear as possible."

"It ain't a problem," Logan replied, tersely.

"While Logan's providing a distraction, the three of us," Selene said, indicating herself, Jean, and Michael, "will be going in through the front doors."

"Isn't that a little risky," Michael asked.

"If Logan is half as dangerous as I think he is," Selene answered, looking up to the hirsute man, "I doubt it'll be a problem."

"Logan's probably more than their Death Dealers are used to," Jean said, looking to her husband.

"I wouldn't doubt it," Selene replied. "Once the three of us are on the property, Michael is going to take out the guards patrolling the grounds." She looked up to her beloved's face, catching his eyes momentarily. "While he's doing that, Jean and I will enter the mansion to find Delacroix. Michael will join us after finishing with the guards." She looked up at Logan. "If Logan happens to find Delacroix first, he'll contact us, and we'll meet in the front room of the mansion. Otherwise, we leave the same way we entered.

"Any questions," she asked. Convinced there weren't any, she continued, "Good. Let's go."

- - - -

Logan was hovering behind the mansion, eyeing the window he was planning on entering. It was dark, and if he was not mistaken, the room was empty. He was waiting for the go command, his claws almost itching to come out.

He was beginning to get restless, when suddenly, he heard Jean's voice in his head. _It's time._

He smiled to himself, moving silently towards the mansion. Landing on the part of roof that ran around the third floor, he crouched, listening intently. Satisfied the room he was going to enter was empty, he moved quietly to the window. With a single thought, an invisible force broke the large window. As the sound of breaking glass receded, he heard a supposedly silent alarm; it was, apparently, only silent to those with normal hearing.

Entering the room, he moved to the other side, behind a door that, he assumed, led to a hallway. It was an obvious hiding spot, but he already knew he wouldn't be hiding that long.

Several moments later, he heard hurried footsteps outside. They suddenly burst the door in, three Death Dealers moving into the room. Logan noticed, with satisfaction, they were in single-file; the first was blocking the second's line of fire.

As soon as he saw the first vampire step clear of the door, he charged, hitting the first in the temple with his fist. The Death Dealer fell in a heap, his head cracking against the side of a table, blood pooling beneath his head. Without wasting a movement, he unsheathed the claws on his left hand, and with a backhanded motion, cut the second vampire's gun in half. But judging from the sudden screams, he must have gotten something else. "My eyes, the fucker got my eyes!" That confirmed it.

Taking advantage of the third vampire's slow reflexes, he brought his left arm down, cutting through his gun equally as easily. He pushed against the Death Dealer, punching him in the gut, his claws erupting through his skin, and the vampire's, at the last second. Their momentum carrying them through the door, and against the opposite wall of the hall, Logan head-butted the undead warrior, hardened metal cracking bone. Logan took him off his claws, his body sagging to the floor.

"What the hell is that," he heard a voice to his left. Turning, Logan saw two more, and reaching out his hand, froze them to the spot. Suddenly, from behind him, he felt the jolt of a bullet entering his lower back, and burning of gunpowder. He lashed out blindly, hoping to hit whatever was behind him. He must have; he suddenly heard blood splashing on the floor.

Turning slightly, he saw another Death Dealer, only his face had been cut into four. And judging by the depth of the cuts, he'd also partially lobotomized the vampire. His body fell to the ground, revealing another one behind him. She spoke into a radio. "Mia to Delacroix – Send reinforcements. Repeat, send reinforcements."

Too late to stop the transmission, Logan turned back to the two he held frozen in place, and with a single movement, sent them hurtling towards the two behind him. "Oh, shit," the female vampire said, just as they were thrown against a wall. The three of them sagged to the floor, unconscious.

"I'm the best at what I do," Logan muttered. He'd taken out seven of their troops in under twenty seconds. And he'd only killed one, possibly two. In the room, he heard the now-eyeless-vampire wailing in agony.

- - - -

_They're starting to come my way_, Jean heard Logan' voice in her head. She turned towards Selene. "He's in, and they're already starting to move against him."

"Good," the vampire replied. Turning, she said, "Michael, go over the fence. Take out as many guards patrolling the grounds as you can."

He nodded in reply. He immediately underwent a metamorphosis, his skin becoming a blue-gray color, and his eyes becoming entirely black. His nails grew in length, becoming thick, and hard. His canines became longer, and much sharper. To Jean, he appeared more demonic than anything else.

He crouched, and his legs working like pistons, jumped over the fence in a single bound. Turning towards Jean, Selene said, "We'll give him thirty seconds, and then we'll go in."

Jean's heart fluttered in anticipation. She was ready for the fight, but a thought had kept on repeating through her head as they had planned this attack. She couldn't but wonder if a vampire could be considered human. True, they were evil. But, as she looked at Selene, she wondered how many of them actually were like her. Selene had told them that the Elders had decreed that the vampires should not hunt humans. And if they did not hunt humans, then did that mean that she shouldn't feel right about possibly killing them? She knew Logan would undoubtedly kill some. But, she also knew that he didn't have to (what with telekinesis, telepathy, unbreakable metal claws and bones, and a healing factor). And she knew that Selene would undoubtedly kill every one of them they met. Michael, she thought, would probably do the same. So, she was still trying to sort it out when Selene interrupted her.

"Don't think of them as humans," Selene told her, almost reading her mind. "They're not. Think of them only as your enemy, as nothing more. If you think of them as something more, you may not be able to do what is necessary."

Jean eyed her, digesting the cold words. "Have you ever hunted humans," she suddenly asked.

"Hunted? No. Bitten," she continued, pausing. "Once."

"Michael?"

"Yes," Selene answered, "to save his life." She looked at the fence, hearing a muffled thud. "Let's go."

Selene, with a single leap, jumped over the fence, just as Michael had earlier. Jean followed, floating gracefully to the ground. To their left, they saw a guard with his throat torn out, his gun broken in half. Beside him, a Doberman pinscher crouched, trembling, its eyes wide, its ears against its head. Closer to the house, they saw a similar scene, with a dead guard, and a dog that was walking as if shell-shocked.

They started moving towards the mansion, keeping their heads low. They were heading towards the front door; they had rationalized that the vampires would not expect an attack on their front door. As it was, the plan had called for the two of them, with Michael, to carry out a sort of shock and awe operation. There would be less Death Dealers around, with Logan fighting on the upper floors, and more of the vampire social elite in the main areas of the mansion. It meant that, if everything went according to plan, they would have little resistance while trying to find Delacroix.

They ran stealthily across the open lawn, knowing this was the most dangerous point before they entered the mansion. If they were spotted, they're plan would be shot to hell. Reaching the shadow of the mansion, Jean sighed silently. They made their way into bushes that were on either side of the main entrance. Selene turned to Jean, "Are you ready?"

"Yes," she replied. Stepping out of the bushes, Jean walked to the large double doors. Placing her knuckles against the door, she rapped hard against the wood, noticing belatedly that she had scarred it.

- - - -

"Mia?"

"Mia?" The female vampire suddenly awoke, only to find herself face-to-face with Cameron, one of her fellow Death Dealers. "What happened," he asked.

"We were attacked by the intruder," she replied, rubbing the back of her head. "Where are the others," she asked, noticing the absence of her unit.

"Sergio's dead; his head was quadrisected," Cameron replied. "Enoch … he's blind; his eyes were cut out. The others are okay; they're studying the room where he came in." He paused, looking behind him. "Apparently, no one got a good look at him? How about you?"

"No," she replied. "I only saw him for a moment. But, he was fast, and strong, and a much better fighter than any lycan I've ever seen."

"Do you think he was a lycan?"

"No," she responded. "I think … I think he was a mutant."

"Why would a mutant attack us," he wondered.

"I don't know," she replied. "Do you know where he is?"

"No," Cameron answered. "There's no sign of him."

Behind him, a dozen Death Dealers walked out of the room, entering into darkness. Mia looked above her, where a light fixed into the ceiling shone brightly. "The lights were still on when I was knocked out," she told Cameron.

"Funny," he replied. "When we got here, they were all …," he grew silent. Realization dawned upon his face, as a scream was suddenly heard from behind him. Turning, he saw a metallic glint on a set of three blades as they plunged into a Death Dealer's chest. Cameron stood, and ran into the darkness, his gun cocked.

Mia tried to follow, but the room began swirling around her, her stomach threatening to erupt. She fell back to the floor, watching helplessly as the fight took place. Gunshots suddenly erupted, muzzle-fire casting the faces of the combatants in an eerie light. She noticed, a sour taste in the back of her throat, that the intruder seemed to take the silver hollow points of the vampire's guns with ease. Blood was streaming down his chest, his shirt full of holes, but he was still fighting. His claws lashed out with lightning speed, and she was shocked to see a head thump to the floor. It rolled towards her, losing momentum along its way.

The head, she noticed forlornly, was Cameron's. His face was fixed in an awful expression of surprise, blood streaming from the gaping hole where his neck used to be. She was about to stand, to fight against this intruder, when she realized the hallway had gone silent.

She looked up, trying to see into the darkness beyond the bright light. The light above her head revealed long slashes of blood and gore on the walls. She noticed, repulsively, that blood seemed to be soaking into the carpet. But, it was spreading into the large circle of light; there wasn't enough carpet to keep it in the dark. She suddenly heard a loud, nauseating squelch as something stepped towards her. The squelches kept sounding, each one more horrible and terrifyingly revolting than the last. Finally, he stepped into the light.

He was short, barely over five feet. But, what he lacked in height, he more than made up for in sheer musculature. Muscles seemed to bulge from his body beneath a veritable pelt of dark hair. His eyes stared into hers with a dark malevolence, his teeth bared in a snarl. Blood covered his arms from his hands to his elbows, the metal claws glinting in the light, despite the layers of crimson liquid. Bullet holes dotted his shirt in jagged lines. His chest was covered in blood, but, despite that, she could swear he wasn't bleeding.

With a simple movement of his hand, an unseen, irresistible force picked her up, and pinned her to the wall. He plunged his claws into her shoulder with a sudden movement, white hot pain running down her arm like molten metal. "Where's Delacroix," he asked savagely, his hot breath on her face.

"Who," she asked between gritted teeth, feigning ignorance.

"You know who," he replied fiercely. He turned his wrist ever so slightly, the same pain blossoming in her shoulder. She could feel a bone threatening to snap under the pressure. "Last chance," he began. "Where's Delacroix?"

- - - -

The door opened, revealing a vampire dressed in an expensive looking dinner jacket. With but a thought, Jean lifted the male vampire into the air, shock covering his face. "Selene," Jean motioned towards the vampire. She came up behind her, as they entered the mansion, the male vampire still held three feet above the ground. "Where's Delacroix," Jean asked.

The vampire motioned with his eyes to a massive room behind and to the right of him. Looking over his shoulder, she saw that it was a massive living room. And, in the middle of the room, stood two dozen vampires, all dressed in black, with guns of every shape and size hanging from their bodies. And in the middle of these Death Dealers stood Delacroix, speaking with several of his subordinates.

"Niels," one of the fighters asked, looking up suddenly.

"Niels can't talk right now," Selene said fiercely, her trusty Berettas drawn on the Death Dealers before her.

"The two of you must either be very stupid or very brave," one of the vampires said. "There are twenty-five of us, and only two of you."

"There're four of us," Selene replied, as Michael suddenly appeared beside them, still transformed.

"I count only three," the same vampire replied.

"Four," a gruff baritone suddenly resounded. All attention was suddenly shifted as Logan came walking into the room from an unseen hallway opposite the front door. The gathered vampires were taken aback; they realized he was the intruder on the upper floors. He appeared as if he'd fought an entire war himself, blood covering his entire body as if Ares himself. Behind him, he dragged the body of a woman. As he reached the room, he dumped her unceremoniously on the floor. "If she's the best you've got, you ain't gonna last the whole o' two minutes."

"Where are the others," Delacroix asked. "What did you do to them?"

"She's the only one alive," Logan replied. "Or, Undead."

"You will pay for this," Delacroix responded. "Death Dealers," he began.

"You don't want to do that," Selene sagely suggested. "Logan here decimated – what? – twenty some odd of your elite." She fixed the leader a cold stare. "And he did that by his self. Think about what the four of us could do to you if we wanted. It wouldn't look so good if the entire Death Dealer population of Los Angeles were wiped out in a single night." As if to punctuate that, the guns hanging from the vampires' shoulders suddenly lifted into the air. The weapons turned on their owners, and cocked in mid-air.

"What do you want," Delacroix asked, his teeth clenched.

"Information," Selene replied.

"On what?"

"The location of the lycan den," she responded.

"We don't know that," he answered.

"But, surely you know something," Jean interjected.

The vampire sneered at her, baring his teeth. She unleashed the claws on one hand, keeping her arm to her side. He seemed to get the point, as he said, "There's a woman; she's supposedly a psychic. Her place in neutral territory, both we and the lycans go to her for info."

"Where," Selene asked.

"Chinatown."

- - - -

The address they'd gotten from the vampires was in an area of Chinatown few tourists ever visited. The actual building seemed to be mostly made of an old restaurant. But, the woman they were looking for had a small part of the building as a psychic shop. They'd had to walk through a back alley, past a large trash bin that reeked of rotting food. Now, standing in front of the shop, advertising in English, and Mandarin, they found it seemed to catch their attention.

As they were about to enter the building, a teenage girl, maybe sixteen or so, with a light smattering of acne across her forehead, came to the door. "Welcome," she said, in slightly accented English. "You are expected," she continued, gesturing for them to enter. "Please hurry," she pleaded, noticing their hesitation, "there isn't much time."

"Time for what," Logan asked, suspiciously.

"It is not my place to explain," she replied, guiding him into the building. The smell hit him like a brick wall, pungent herbs and burning incense making his nose run, and his eyes water. Jean, he noticed, was having the same problem. Selene and Michael, he noticed with annoyance, didn't seem to be affected the same way.

The girl led them through the shop, to a room in the back. Four rickety chairs were set in front of an ancient desk, it surface scarred and burned from years of abuse. "Please take a seat," the girl politely said, gesturing to the chairs. "She will be with you momentarily." She walked past them, into a door against the far wall. The four did as the girl instructed, though Logan and Jean did so carefully, neither sure the chairs could support their metal-encased skeletons.

Several minutes later, the girl reappeared, carefully leading an old woman. She walked with an old, wooden cane, her back half-bent with age. With each step, she trembled, seemingly on the brink of toppling to the ground. Her eyes were pale, the irises having died long before. But, despite her small, weak frame, the woman seemed to possess an intense aura of power. There was something about her that seemed to belie her physicality.

"Welcome," the woman said warmly. "It has been many years since I've had the company of such accomplished warriors as yourselves."

"You've heard of us," Jean asked.

"Of course," the woman replied. "You are Jean Grey, Marvel Girl, the Phoenix, _Casa Nareph_, one of a handful of people who take it upon themselves to defend the human race. And your husband, has many more names, does he not?" The woman turned towards Logan. "Logan Black, the Wolverine, Patch, _Caríl Talúk_, and many more you are known by. It has been said, in certain circles, that you are, perhaps, the most accomplished warrior to be known. You have even been called Death."

"How did you know that," Logan asked, his teeth bared in a snarl. Jean placed her hand on his shoulder, restraining him, for the moment.

"More importantly, how do you know of Apocalypse," Jean asked. "How do you know about us, and what do those names mean? That is only the second time we've heard them."

"Your questions I shall answer after I've answered theirs," the woman said, gesturing towards Selene and Michael. "And, I believe there is a question that all four of you have, as well."

"How do you," Selene began, before being cut off.

"Ask your own question first, if you please," the woman said politely, but firmly.

The vampire studied the woman; it seemed to her that the old woman was playing with them. "Where can we find the lycans," Selene finally asked.

The woman answered, simply, "Do not go in search for the werewolves. They will find you before long." Before Selene could ask what the meaning of the woman's words were, she asked, "Now as for the question that all of you have – would one of you be so kind as to voice it?"

The four of them looked at each other, trying to decide who should ask the question. Finally, it was Michael who spoke. "How is it that the two of us," he asked, gesturing to himself and Selene, "have never heard of mutants, despite the fact that Logan and Jean say they've been known of for about thirty years or so?"

"Very good," the woman replied. "But, is there not another side to the question?"

"How can there be more than one race of vampires," Jean asked.

"Very good," the woman responded. "You've asked the correct questions, and on the first try." She sat back in her chair, smiling slightly. The young girl placed a cup of steaming tea in front of the elder woman. "The short answer is that you've been touched by the energies of Avalon."

"We already knew that," Logan said. "And what exactly does that have to do with our questions?"

"You two knew that," the woman began, "but they don't." She gestured towards Michael and Selene.

"What do you mean by Avalon," Selene asked.

"It is another dimension," the woman replied. "It exists as the crossroads to all universes, and is ruled by a being which is beyond godhood." She paused, taking a sip of her tea. "It is because you were touched by the energies of that realm that your minds did not … reset when your dimensions collided."

"What," Michael and Selene asked at the same time. Logan and Jean looked at each other, quizzically. They hadn't been expecting anything to do with multiple dimensions.

"Yes," the woman replied. "Infinite dimensions exist simultaneously with this one, and, unfortunately, they are beginning to converge."

"But how," Jean asked, looking at Logan. "Something like that would take massive amounts of energy to accomplish."

"Yes," the woman replied, pleased with the younger woman.

"Who could do something like that?"

"The Dark Lord."

"What are you guys talking about," Michael asked, his face a mask of incredulity.

"Good and evil exist," the woman said. "They do not only exist as aspects of the human psyche, but also as actual forces, actual beings. A war is on the verge of erupting, and we are only now seeing the beginning. What is happening now is similar to a warning shot being fired across the beam of an enemy ship."

"This is one of the tests, isn't it," Jean asked, suddenly comprehending. The woman nodded in acquiescence. "When did it start? And is there anything else you can tell us, either about this test, or about the dimensional collisions?"

The old woman sighed, resigning herself to explaining. "This first test began when the four of you met for the first time. Your meeting was not coincidental, though it may seem as if it was. It was a direct result of merging of dimensions, which is being done to consolidate the power of the Dark Lord."

"What the hell are you talking about," Selene asked, just as confused.

"That is right," the woman began, "you have no idea what we are talking about." The woman began speaking in an unintelligible language, something that sounded like phlegm being coughed up from the lungs. "This should fix that." A reddish energy materialized around her left hand, suddenly spreading out to the area around Michael and Selene. The energy coalesced into nebulous rings around their heads, before dissipating like a fog.

"Who … what just happened," Michael and Selene asked together. But the confusion in their faces cleared, leaving an abrupt thoughtfulness. "And I thought my life was weird," Michael muttered.

"What do they know, now," Jean asked.

"Enough to know that you've both faced things such as magic and demons before," the old woman said. "And now," she continued, "let me finish answering your question." The woman took another sip of her tea. "We do not know how long these dimensional collisions will continue; it is, in fact, one of the few things we do not know." She sat back again, sighing slightly. "As far as you other question is concerned, information about your tests, there is very little information I can give you."

"Then tell us what you know," Jean pleaded. "Any information will be that much more helpful."

"Yes, I suppose so," the woman replied, her mouth set in a grim line. "You will have three tests, of that I am certain you already know. The first test will be to defeat an evil that is a scourge, a disease, upon humanity. The second will be against an evil that is created by humanity, and the third will be against one that is outside of humanity."

"Is there anything else you can tell us," Logan asked.

"Each test will be more difficult than the last. And, the last two will require you all to make especially … long journeys."

"Can you tell us anything about those journeys?"

"No," the woman replied. "I am sorry; I cannot."

"I am rather curious," Selene suddenly interrupted, "as to how it is that you know all of this information."

The woman smiled wryly, seemingly expecting the question. "I am a member of an ancient, secret society," she began. "It is called the Order of the Elements. Specifically, I am a member of the Water Clan." She placed her hand over her steaming cup. With a single, simple movement, the liquid was floating, defying gravity. Another movement, and the tea froze in place, ice crackling as its temperature lowered. "And, we know many, many things." The tea thawed, and went back into the cup. "For example, the name _Caríl Talúk_," the woman said, "means, in a language ancient beyond reckoning, 'Great Warrior'."

"'Great Warrior'," Logan asked, incredulously.

"Can you think of something else that is able to portray you in so few words," the woman asked. Logan considered her words, and seemed to slowly acquiesce. "Yes," the woman said, "there is a reason that you were named that. It is believed, in some circles, that you are the best warrior in the world." The woman faced Jean. "And _Casa Nareph_," she said, "means 'Flaming Spirit'. You were called such for … obvious reasons."

"How do you know all of this information," Jean pleaded.

"I can only tell you that we know many things. I am, however, unable to divulge how we know many of them." The woman sighed, and became silent for a moment. "The truth is," she continued, "that I am not entirely aware of all of the manners in which we acquire information." The old woman suddenly raised her head, her blind eyes seemingly focused beyond their heads. Slowly, her face turned to her right, once again seemingly focused on something beyond the walls. "You have been followed," she said. "The vampires will not so easily forgive the insult which was laid upon them this night. And, if I am not mistaken, the truce that has protected this area from bloodshed between vampires and werewolves is about to be broken." The sound of guns cocking suddenly hit Logan's and Jean's ears, followed by the sound of several … creatures growling.

- - - -

**Jornada del Muerto, Twelve Hours Later**

"So, can tell us anything about this Order of the Elements," Scott asked Marty, as they sifted through what was left of their previous camp.

"Yes," the physicist replied.

"How about who you are, exactly," Ana asked. She was perturbed by the fact that he had been able to keep such a secret from her. But, she was also annoyed at the fact that she had been unable to figure out how to deactivate the suit of armor she was wearing. She was hesitant about pressing the button on the small remote she had; Celeste had explained that if she did, her urine'd be worth several billion dollars.

He smiled wryly, and said, "My name is, in fact, Martin Nathaniel Childress." He turned towards his colleague, squinting in the sun. "And I did earn a doctorate in nuclear physics from Stanford. However, I was also born to a woman who happened to be a relatively powerful sorceress, and a man who was a mage. Both of them were members of an ancient society that strived to safeguard the world against evil."

"This Order," Celeste asked.

"Yes," he replied. "And as far as it is concerned, I can only tell you that it is ancient beyond even the reckoning of the Earth."

"What the hell does that mean," Ana asked.

"I am not at liberty to say," Marty responded. "However, I can tell you that we have the absolute best intelligence gathering capabilities." He paused, deciding whether he should continue further. "I suppose it won't hurt for me to say this. We have agents, if you will, in every government in the world, in every society and organization. We know EVERYTHING. There is nothing that can be hidden from us."

"What about SHIELD," Bishop asked. "Don't they know you exist? Or HYDRA?"

"Yes," Marty replied. "But, every time they try to infiltrate us, the agent becomes loyal to us. We see, and hear everything. Nothing on this planet can be done without our being able to find out about it."


	7. The Eye of the Storm

Chapter Seven: The Eye of the Storm

"You say you can know almost everything that happens on the planet," Ana asked. "How is that?"

"Magic and technology, combined, are quite powerful," Marty replied.

"Really," she asked, not entirely believing him. She had known Marty for five years, since she'd been searching for her father's work. And during that time, she would never have suspected that he had another, secret life. That he was involved in something that was so … big, confounded her. Searching through what was left of their camp, she tried to think of anything that she had missed, anything that would have led her to think that there was something he was hiding. But, try as she might, there was nothing.

"You don't believe in magic," Marty asked, surprised. "Even after what you've seen last night?"

"No," Ana replied.

"It exists," Bishop said gruffly, squatting nearby.

"Believe him," Celeste said, overhearing the conversation. "I haven't been an X-Man as long as he, Scott or Kurt, but I've seen things that are entirely supernatural."

"Magical and supernatural forces are not necessarily the same thing," Marty corrected her.

"Same difference, mate," she replied indifferently.

"Ana," Joey called. He'd suddenly remembered something she had said the night before. "Wasn't there something you wanted to show us?"

She stood up, stiff, her eyes wide, like a deer in headlights, dread washing over her as she remembered the dig site. "Shit!" She ran past him, hoping against hope that it hadn't been disturbed by the creatures. It was both hers, and her father's life work; if it was destroyed, there would be no way to prove his theories correct. He would be regarded as nothing more than an eccentric. Reaching the edge of the excavation, she shrieked in anger and disappointment.

The entire dig site had been destroyed. The tarps covering the excavations had been ripped up, the areas beneath trodden down beneath hundreds of xenomorphic feet. Walking into the dig, she held her hand over her mouth in shock, realizing all the proof had been destroyed. She knelt down to where the lycanthropic skull had been, finding innumerable shards of white bone. She sat down in the dirt, sighing in defeat. "Fuck," she whispered exasperatedly.

"Ana," Joey asked softly. She looked up at him, his large body squatting beside her.

"I'll be okay," she replied softly. "It's just my life's work," she added, a note of hysteria entering her voice.

"You know," Marty said, stepping next to them, "if it's any consolation, you were right, Ana."

"About what," she asked, looking up.

"About everything," he replied.

"E…Everything," she rhetorically asked. It took her a moment to synthesize what he just said. "You knew? All this time? And you never said anything?" She stood up, not realizing that the armor had receded, her eyes blazing. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Because I wasn't able to," he responded.

"And now you can?"

"Yes," he hesitated.

"What changed, Marty," she asked, her voice cold, almost emotionless.

"I had to make sure you were who I thought you were," he replied.

"And who is that?"

"Someone important," he replied.

"What exactly does that mean," she asked, annoyed at his constant evasion.

"I'll explain it in due time. But, right now, I think I should explain what happened here so long ago," Marty responded. "Because it does have to do with what is happening now."

"What is happening now," she asked.

"We are seeing the beginning of dark times, where the wills of those called heroes will be tested. A great war is brewing, between good and evil. And, we are only now seeing the opening volleys."

"I know you're mostly saying this for her part," Scott said, motioning towards Ana. "But, we've already been informed of this. What does that have to do with what happened here?"

"Everything," Marty replied.

"Care to explain," Scott asked.

"Approximately eight hundred years ago," Marty began slowly, "a woman was born in what is now New England. She was born a psychic, though she wasn't a mutant."

"What was she," Scott asked.

"I've never studied much about her," Marty replied. "But, I believe she was something skin to a lightning rod of psychic energy. I **know** that she had a psychic premonition to build a boat, and sail east. She did as the premonition told her. It is said that her journey was fraught with peril, and that she faced things in the open seas the like of which have not been seen since."

"Do you know what these things were that she faced," Joey asked.

"There are some in the Order that know, but I am not one," Marty responded. "But, I do know for a fact that she came to port in Athens. There she sought out the Order. How she came to know about the Order, or how she came to speak Greek, I cannot say, though I suspect she foresaw it in a vision. The Order members that met her were so impressed with her – that she was such a powerful psychic – that they decided to take her before the High Council, and the Grand Vicar, the governing bodies of the Order.

"There, they trained her with the other apprentices, where she became the greatest member of her generation. After some time studying under the Grand Vicar, she had a powerful, all-consuming vision, in which she saw creatures storming across the Americas, destroying anything and everything along their way. She went to the Council, and the Grand Vicar, for advice. She was told that she, and she alone, had to find a way to defeat the creatures. Before they released her to do the task appointed her, they inducted her into the Fire Clan of the Order, and the Grand Vicar taught her in the use of the _keranceth_."

"_Keranceth_," Scott asked dubiously.

"Yes," Marty said. "In the ancient tongue, it is the word to signify power, or more specifically, magical energy. It is the base word for the word _Kerancen_, which is the word for the Protectors. After she finished her training, she returned to her home. There, she began making preparations to fend off the creatures she'd foreseen coming from the west. It took her nearly thirty years."

"What did she do to prepare," Bishop asked.

"She had gained a great deal of knowledge while studying under the Grand Vicar. Once she returned, she used this knowledge to her advantage. She knew that the creatures, whatever they were, they would be stronger than humans. She knew that if she were to make an army, the warriors would have to be more than human, to even have an iota of a chance. Therefore, she began researching ways to make humans more … powerful.

"She came upon a certain combination of herbs and incantations, which, if used properly, would allow a person to transform at will." He paused, allowing the others to soak up the information. Joey, standing behind Ana, mouthed something to his self, his eyes wide in shock.

"What did you say, Joey," Celeste asked, having seen what Marty had.

"Lycanthropy," he replied softly.

"Yes," Marty responded. "But, it was not only lycanthropy. There was also avethropy, herpethropy, ursathropy, and equinathropy, amongst many, many others."

"What," Joey asked.

"He means were-birds, were-reptiles, were-bears, and were-horses, respectively," Celeste answered.

"It would've been a regular _Island of Dr. Moreau_," Scott said. "How could she have given these, what I presume are potions, to unsuspecting people?"

"She didn't," Marty replied. "She let those warriors that took the potions know ahead of time what would happen to them."

"What did she do next," Bryan asked.

"She waited for the signs that the enemy was coming," Marty answered. "I don't know what they were, but I do know that they came to her when she was an old woman, somehow making it to her sixties. When she did receive the signs, she headed west, to a verdant river valley that used to be east of here." Joey inhaled suddenly, hitching his breath. "Joey," Marty asked.

"My … my vision," he said, awestruck.

"What vision," the physicist asked.

"I had a vision awhile back," the larger man responded. "It was just about the time my father died." He paused, looking around to see if everyone believed him. Not seeing any incredulity, or doubt in their eyes, he continued. "I … saw a great meeting of many different tribes, coming from all over North America. There were warriors from as far north as Alaska and the Yukon, and as far south as Mexico. They had all been gathered to a council held by a woman named Speaks with the Wind. Steaming bowls of what I thought was soup were being passed out, when she spoke to me in my head, saying that it was a good omen that I was there. But, she was the only one who saw me."

"What happened next," Marty asked.

"I was … sent to a battle scene. There were bodies everywhere, both human and otherwise. Those that weren't human were on fire, having being set aflame by the human warriors they had fought. Before the vision shifted again, I saw a single warrior walking amongst the pyres, battle-weary, and bloody. I believe he was the only survivor. The vision shifted again, then, and I found myself underneath a cool, starry night. I was holding a massive lance in my hands, with a hatchet and knife around my waist. Before me, an army of creatures was marching towards me. Behind me, I had a large number of werewolves, all loyal to me. The vision ended as I led my army into battle against the creatures."

"Speaks with the Wind," Marty said, almost as if testing the words. "That was the woman's name that had started gathering the warriors to her." He paused, sighing. "She started sending out dreams, and visions, using the same magic she'd learned beneath the Grand Vicar. It took several years, but, warriors began coming to her, seeking her out for answers to questions that'd been raised by their visions. Over the next several years, warriors came trickling in, to find out what … evil was coming out of the west.

"When enough warriors had answered her summons, she began them for battle. She taught them how to handle the new abilities that came with having these new forms. By the time the battle actually took place, there were several warriors that had been able to not only acclimate to their new abilities exceptionally well, but had also how to fight that much more effectively using weapons. One of these warriors was an Apache man by the name of Running Wolf.

"The battle that came to pass lasted for almost five days, day and night. It was intensely fierce; the warriors knew they were not only fighting to save there selves, but also, quite possibly, the lives of all of their loved ones." Marty sighed heavily, his eyes threatening to brim over with tears. "Dawn on the beginning of the sixth day found all of the creatures dead, their bodies having been set on fire. But … it was a Pyrrhic victory. There were only a couple of dozen warriors left, of over a thousand. Only one of them had escaped unscathed. Over the next several days, those warriors that had been wounded starting falling sick, their bodies seemingly rotting as they lived and breathed.

"It is thought that the creatures had a form of bacteria in their hides. Whatever it was, all of the warriors died several days later, their bodies having literally rotted away. And so, in the end, there was only one warrior left alive. Running Wolf, battle-weary, exhausted, and half-starved, slowly made his way back home. The only survivor of a battle the world has since forgotten, he was the New World's Achilles.

"And he was your ancestor, Joey."

- - - -

They were sitting beneath the shadow of the jet's undamaged wing. The midday had brought on an oppressive heat, the shade barely a respite from the desert sun. Sitting with his forearms on his knees, Scott aired out his shirt, trying to cool himself off. Ana had told them earlier that this was actually warmer than what it usually was at this time of year. Nonetheless, Scott couldn't help but feel dispirited; he was trying to rationalize a reason for the time it was taking the people at the mansion to come and get them.

Determined not to allow himself to lose hope, he started thinking about what Marty had said earlier in the day. He'd said that it was thought that the reason for the massive invasion force against the Indians was to kill off Joey's ancestors. The creatures, whatever they were, apparently hadn't known much, only that they were Indians. Marty had gone on to say that other attempts had been made to kill the ancestors of not only the other X-Men, but also a number of other heroes. How exactly the creatures could know whose descendants were whose was beyond him. Suddenly, something clicked in his head.

"Marty," he asked. "Joey had a name in that language. Does that mean that the rest of us have them too?"

"Yes," the physicist sighed. "But, I can only tell you the names of those who are present."

"Well," Celeste queried, expectantly.

"I … well." He scratched at his beard, and looked at her. "Okay," he acquiesced. "You are called _Nusekír Re_, which literally means No-Shape One, or better translated, Shapeless One, for obvious reasons." He went to them in turn. "Scott, you were referred to as _Sírtha ter Tal_, or Sight of War. Bishop, you are _Eríl Saíneth_, or Timely Guardian. Angela, you are _Ima Tanaré_, which can either be translated as Angel High, or as Angel of Royalty, depending on the context. Kurt, your name in the Ancient Tongue, is _Garé Selaré_, Elven Curate." Lastly, he turned to Ana. "You were mentioned in the ancient scrolls, as well. _Rona Tala_, translated, means Armored Warrior."

The group of them digested the material, thinking over these names that had been given them long ago. Joey looked up at Marty, the first to speak. "Do you happen know anything else about us? Say, maybe prophecies?"

"It is dangerous for people to know too much about their futures, and for that reason, I know very few prophecies. However, I can tell you that vampires and werewolves will not become public knowledge until after the death of the Wolf King, and during some great war against 'creatures borne of the earth, and the imagination of Man'." He cast his eyes towards the women of the group. "Sorry if I offended you with 'Man' instead of 'humans'; I was quoting the scroll."

"'S'a'right, mate," Celeste replied. "Is there anything else you can tell us?"

"No," Marty said. "Sorry."

"There's nothing…," Celeste began, before being cut off by Kurt.

"What is that," he asked suddenly, pointing into the desert. "There, on the horizon?" They followed the direction of his finger. There, barely visible, was a black spot that seemed to be slowly enlarging, walking towards them. They were all on edge, having survived the attack in the middle of the night. This was coupled with the unabated shock of seeing something, evidently large, walking in the middle of the desert."

"Angela," Scott asked. "Fly overhead, and see if you can make out what that is." She nodded in acquiescence, and with a mighty flap of her wings, was in the air. The rest of them watched, as she gained altitude, barely visible against the sky. They kept their eyes fixed on the dark spot on the horizon, unable to determine what it was. Their anxiety, and tension, was palpable, almost feeling as if they could cut it with a knife.

Suddenly, out of the sky, they saw Angela dive towards the horizon like a bat out of hell. When she was less than fifty feet from the ground, a massive blast of blue energy erupted from her mouth, striking the black dot, a small cloud of dust enveloping the area. Out of the cloud, they saw Angela flying low and fast, almost as if her very life depended on it. She landed near Scott, clutching her knees, and trying to catch her breath. "I … It's another army," she somehow forced out between breaths. "They're marching here even as we speak. I think it's bigger than the first," she said, gulping air.

- - - -

**The Previous Night**

"Great," Logan groused. He stood up, ready to go out into the alley.

"Logan," Jean said, her voice full of concern. "We can't go that way." She turned towards the old woman. "Is there another door out of here?"

"No," the woman replied. "But, if there were, you would find yourselves in greater peril than if you were to go out this door. You may find … unexpected allies in the oddest of places."

"You expect us to go into the lion's den," Selene asked the woman incredulously.

"Yes. But, it is safer than the alternative."

"What's the alternative?"

The old woman smiled wryly. "Is it better to deal with a lion, or with the Devil?" The old woman seemed to look through them. "I can guarantee that if you go out the front, you will find unlooked-for allies."

Logan and Jean shared a glance, and to Selene, she knew they were going to chance it. "The both of you are insane."

"We've seen worse," Logan said, grimly.

"If you two want to join us, now is the time," Jean told them. "I don't know that you'll have another chance."

"I think the four of us might be able to fight our way out of here, if we need to," Michael said, suddenly speaking his mind. "Selene, the three of us," he motioned towards her, himself, and Jean, "were able to get past patrolling vampire guards. And Logan was single-handedly able to defeat over twenty vampires."

"Fine," Selene acquiesced, pulling out her guns, and checking the clips.

- - - -

Logan and Jean stepped out of the building first, to see both ends of the alley cut off. To their left, a large group of Death Dealers were assembled; over a hundred strong. At their head, Delacroix stood with his lieutenants, and the only survivor of Logan's attack, Mia. To their right, a larger group of what they perceived to be werewolves was gathered, their dirty, tattered clothes standing in stark contrast to the vampires' well-maintained battle gear.

"He's the one," one of the vampires called out in rage. "The short, hairy one; he's the one that killed our friends."

"Short," Logan queried, the word coming out more as a growl. Michael and Selene came out of the building then, staring in shock at the number of potential enemies.

"Kill them," one of the vampires shouted. Delacroix held up his hand for them to be quiet, but it only seemed to stoke the fires of rage. More and more of them were shouting to kill them, seemingly ignoring the werewolves before them. Suddenly, a shot rang out, just barely grazing Jean's left arm. Pregnant, malice-filled silence suddenly fell over the alley, the quiet before the storm. Almost on instinct, Logan and Jean placed shields against the opposing groups, just in time. Hundreds of shots sounded almost simultaneously, drowning out every other sound in the alley. But, each and every bullet hit the well-nigh impregnable telekinetic barriers.

As the first volleys ended, the two of them were shocked to see both vampires and werewolves dropping from the roof, right into the area between the shields. A vampire shot at Jean, the bullets tracing lines in her stomach. Acting on anger, she walked into the firing gun, and with a single swipe of her claws, cut it into four. In the same movement, she stabbed the undead warrior just beneath the solar plexus. Drawing back her other arm, she plunged her claws deep into the warrior's brainpan, killing him instantly.

She stepped back, surprised at the speed at which she had killed the vampire, she stared, transfixed, at the gore and blood on her claws. She wasn't able to fully consider her actions, hearing a growl behind her. Turning, she saw a werewolf leaping at her. With a singular thrust of her mind, she threw it against the opposing wall, blood splattering on impact.

Suddenly, beside, her Logan appeared, blood staining his shirt, a healing gash across his forehead. He gutted an un-transformed werewolf, his gun already having been cut in two. A vampire opened up on him from behind, Logan's body jerking spasmodically with the bullets. Without thinking, Jean lashed out with her claws, slicing through the vampire's upper shoulder. His arm fell to the ground with a wet thump, the remnants of his shoulder hanging in tatters, blood spouting from the wounds.

Michael suddenly appeared, seemingly wanting to take a look at Logan. But, the latter man was already recovering, adrenaline and rage speeding the process. He was momentarily surprised at Michael's face: semi-lupine, eyes pitch black, and his skin blue-gray. The shock faded quickly, as he saw a werewolf try to take Michael from behind. But, the hybrid, with single swipe of his arm, knocked the creature into the nearest wall.

"What the fuck is that," Michael heard Selene exclaim. He looked up to see her crouched behind several werewolf bodies, pointing ahead. Logan, Jean, and Michael followed the direction of her finger to see something happening to the gathered vampires. They realized, suddenly, that all the fighting had abruptly stopped. Looking around, they saw that all eyes were pointed towards where Selene had been pointing.

At the rear of the vampires, the Death Dealers seemed to be facing away from the battle that had just been occurring. Something seemed to have caught their attention. From what they could see, the rearguard had formed a sort of half-circle, looking at something; but what that something was, they could not see. All of a sudden, someone screamed, followed by another heavy, terrible silence. A single gunshot sounded, followed by an unending staccato that threatened to drown out all other noise.

The vampires started retreating further into the alley, but whatever was attacking them from the rear was cutting through them like a wedge. An abrupt, repulsive feeling settled over Logan's mind, and sensing, more than feeling, he knew something inherently evil was near him. Turning, he saw something with blood-red eyes, its mouth wide to reveal sharp, ivory fangs. It seemed human, though its face was somehow sending out waves of invisible, palpable evil

He suddenly heard Jean shout his name, followed by a heavy weight on his back. Without knowing what had happened, he felt a mouth and teeth fall onto his throat, beginning to drain the precious fluid held therein.


	8. Against the Wall

AN: Sorry it's taken me so long to update; I've been busy with working, and actually finding a job that my degree's good for….

Chapter 8: Against the Wall

Acting almost on instinct, Logan grabbed the hand whose claws were embedded in his shoulder. With a Herculean effort, he threw the vampire over his head, dislocating its shoulder. But the vampire's mouth never let go of his throat. He felt a fantastic, white-hot pain as a strip of his flesh, over six inches in length, ripped away from his throat. He placed his hand to his throat, hot blood running down his shirt. He stumbled, feeling slightly dizzy, and a little light-headed.

He shook his head, the light-headedness passing just as quickly as it had come. Focusing on the vampire he had just thrown, he saw it had landed on its feet. The flesh that had just momentarily before been attached to his neck was hanging from its mouth like a prize. It smiled evilly, and then with two sudden jerks of its neck, it had swallowed the piece of flesh. Logan shuddered in revulsion; the image of something eating his flesh struck him as being almost … unnatural.

The vampire suddenly stopped, shock crossing its face. Its hands groped at its neck, and seemed to begin choking. It began coughing, almost as if there was something stuck at the back of its throat. The shock gave way to true dread, as the coughing suddenly turned to dry heaves. The vampire doubled over, one of its arms over its abdomen. Suddenly, it retched, a substance that looked almost like tar erupting from its mouth. As the … vomit … hit the pavement, it seemed to be smoldering, almost like a dying fire. The vampire looked up at Logan hatefully. "You're blood … it's toxic," it said, the same liquid dribbling out of its mouth. As the liquid touched the vampire's skin, the liquid seemed to start eating away at the flesh.

Logan realized that the liquid was his blood, reacting with the vampire's body. But, how, or why, it was happening, he didn't know. The vampire rolled over on his back, clutching his stomach. He ripped open his t-shirt, revealing his torso, where his stomach actually seemed to be glowing. "It BURNS," the vampire screamed, writhing in agony. The vampire arched his back in pain, nearly folding himself in half. As the vampire relaxed, the glow that'd been building in his stomach breached his skin. Ash and smoke erupted from the sore that had opened, followed by a slow-moving line of flame. In its wake, the vampire's flesh had carbonized, smoke swirling away, as ash collapsed to the ground. The vampire gave one last convulsion before the fire ate away at his chest, slowly consuming his entire body.

In the ensuing silence, no one dared to move, even to breathe. All sides of the conflict had stopped, watching the death throes of the undead fighter. Logan looked up from the ashes of the dead vampire, to another that had been watching on the other side of the alley. He stepped over the remains of the dead vampire, and with a single movement, stabbed the on-looking vampire in the heart. It exploded in a cloud of black dust, a look of utter surprise etched on its face, with a sound that reminded him of Kurt.

"Who's next," he growled, his claws extended, and his hands out to his sides.

A surge of the new vampires pushed through the Death Dealers, pushing them aside, and killing any who did not get out of the way. They swarmed towards Logan, Jean, Michael, and Selene. "There's your answer," Selene answered Logan.

A group of Death Dealers who hadn't gotten out of the way of the new vampires were fighting fiercely against the newcomers. Among these were Mia and Delacroix. The Death Dealers, though, kept being pushed back, losing almost all of their number. The silver bullets utilized by the Death Dealers didn't seem to have much effect on them. The new vampires were able to shrug off the shots, and kept on coming. As they reached the Death Dealers, they didn't kill them, but rather bit them, spreading the virus that had been blessed by dark powers.

Those Death Dealers that were bitten collapsed from blood loss. But, to the horror of the gathered combatants, the victims became like their attackers, their faces morphing, and their eyes glowing a malevolent red. As they were revived, they joined the newcomers, and began attacking their former comrades, the cycle starting over again.

"These sons-of-bitches are nearly unstoppable," Mia screamed, to no one in particular.

"They ain't unstoppable," Logan growled beside her. She looked over to him in surprise, not knowing he was by her side. She watched, awestruck, as he leapt into a group of new vampires, and with only a few movements, had dusted each and every single one of them.

Jean came fresh on his heels, jumping into the foray just as he had. A vampire jumped, trying to land on top of her. With a single thought, she threw it against a wall, decommissioning it from the fight. Another moved in from her side, but with a single swipe of her claws, she took it out easily. Behind her, Michael and Selene were fighting, trying to take out as many as possible. But, they had already realized that they couldn't kill them with chest shots. Instead, they were tearing off their heads, with merciless brutality.

Taking her cue from Selene, Mia concentrated her rounds at their heads, hoping to destroy enough skull and brains to fell the creatures. The problem, though, was that she didn't have enough ammo to keep this up for long. Each of the vampires took at least five bullets to kill; it had already occurred to her that to kill them, she had to separate the brain from the rest of the body. But, bullets were not exactly the best way to decapitate an enemy.

One of the new vampires landed in front of her, its mouth spread in a wide grin (Mia thought the vampire might've been female, but she wasn't sure). She raised her gun to eye level, and pulled the trigger. Shock spread across her face as she heard the click of a dry clip. She looked at the gun momentarily, angry at it for betraying her, before raising her other gun. Shock turned to abject fear as that gun clicked dryly, as well. The realization that she was entirely out of ammunition flashed across her mind, as her eyes met her adversary's.

The other vampire smiled predatorily, its sharp, deadly teeth gleaming menacingly in the low light. Its eyes glowered victoriously as it stalked her, moving forward painfully, dreadfully slowly. She backed against the wall, holding her head high, ready to die as a Death Dealer. Suddenly, though, a flat, double-edged blade flashed, and with a single, fluid movement, cut off the vampire's head. Thick, dark blood flowed from the wound, the vampire's face a mask of shock, as the corpse collapsed to the ground. As it met the earth, the corpse carbonized, becoming nothing more than a cloud of ash.

"Are you okay," a man asked, his face appearing through the cloud. In his right hand was an old double-edged sword, Norse runes etched deep into the blade.

"Yes," Mia replied. Noticing his face, though, she was startled. "You're a lycan."

"Yes, I am," he replied. He smiled, highlighting his bright eyes. "And you are a vampire."

"Why would you help me," she asked, surprised.

"It seems to me we're all in the same boat," he responded. He reached into his coat, and pulled out a short sword in a simple, leather scabbard. "You might need this," he said, handing her the weapon.

Taking the weapon warily, she unsheathed the blade. The blade was single-edged, and slightly over a foot long. It seemed to her to be a wicked looking machete. "Thank you," she said. And with that, they jumped back into the fray.

Michael and Selene were fighting back to back. The vampiress had resorted to hand-to-hand combat after her guns had run dry. Though she had found she was weaker than the new vampires, she was still an expert at more than one martial art. That, and the fact that Michael, when transformed, could tear off the vampires' heads with ease, had given them an edge. Working together, they had cut a swathe through their enemies.

Michael slowly realized that they had stopped attacking him, and were focusing on Selene. A sudden need swept over his mind; the werewolf part of his mind was telling him to protect his mate. With a sudden burst of supernatural speed, moving so fast that he wasn't even a blur, he swept at one of the vampires. His hand connected with its head, literally knocking it off his shoulders, a long strip of flesh peeling off its back with the head. Moving to the second, he back handed it across the side of the head, crushing its skull in the process. The third vampire's chest suddenly exploded, a clawed hand, coated with gore, reaching through the hole. Michael withdrew his hand, the body falling to the ground.

"Thank you, Michael," Selene said gratefully. Suddenly, from behind Michael, a vampire leapt onto the wall, baring its fangs in their direction. It leapt in their direction with a sudden movement, its arms spread wide. Out of nowhere, a wooden arrow sailed through the air, colliding with the vampire in mid-jump. It clutched the arrow as it pierced its heart; it fell to the ground, and immediately exploded into a cloud of ash.

Following the path of the arrow, Selene was surprised to see the teenage girl from the psychic shop. On her back, a quiver of arrows was buckled, an old fashioned bow in her left hand. Around her right thigh, half a dozen silver stakes were strapped, their points glinting dangerously. Around her waist was a belt with an attached scabbard, filled with a long, curved sword. A small tattoo on her right arm, at her shoulder, glowed with a slight blue iridescence. On closer inspection, Selene saw it was a quarter-circle, point down, enclosing a violently breaking wave.

"These are the _nosferatu_," the girl explained. A vampire tried to jump on her from behind, but she lashed out with a powerful roundhouse kick. It caught the vampire in jaw, twirling it around in the air twice before it reached the ground. It looked up with a ferocious glint in its eyes, and seemed ready to attack. But, the girl simply held out her hand, and water flowed, as a super-pressurized stream, from her, hitting the creature in the chest. The stream of water cut through the vampire's body like a hot knife through butter, cutting it in half.

"You bitch," the vampire screamed out, painfully. But, even as the girl stopped the stream of water, the vampire seemed to burst into flame, and began writhing in agony.

"The elements created by the members of the Order are divine in origin. As such, if a creature that is … unclean … is touched by flame, water, air, or earth created by Order members, that creature is consumed by the fires of Mount Dar'anath of the Blessed Realm." Michael and Selene looked at each other, briefly wondering what, exactly, the girl was talking about.

"That's good to know," Michael replied, half-sarcastically.

"Perhaps you would take me more seriously if I were to tell you that the easiest way to kill these vampires is to separate their heads from their bodies."

"We already know that," Selene said, almost as if thinking the girl a fool.

"Yes," the girl replied. "But did you know that unless you keep them apart, the vampire's head will re-attach, and it will walk again." Almost as if to prove her point, a vampire with a formerly decapitated head charged her, the wound on the neck still healing. Just as it was about to land on the girl, she shouldered her bow, and unsheathed her sword, slashing through the vampire's neck in the same movement. "In order to remedy this problem, you must throw the head as far away as possible," she continued, standing over the body. She bent, picked up the head by the hair, and threw it onto the roof opposite the shop. "These _nosferatu_ are immune to sunlight, though they are only as powerful as an average human during the day. They have their greatest power at night. Thus, decapitation at night will not kill them outright, unless a magical or blessed weapon is used." She motioned towards her own sword. "Because this is not a magical, or blessed sword, the vampires whose heads I take will be alive, and feel every moment of agony until sunrise. At sunrise, because they have been mortally wounded, their bodies will burn."

"That's not a nice way to go," Michael replied.

"No," the girl answered, "it is not." As she spoke, she sliced off the heads of two more vampires, throwing their heads up on the same roof.

As the girl threw the heads on the roof, a chill, thick white mist suddenly appeared. It flowed over the combatants like a river, enveloping them in its embrace. His sense of sight useless, Logan instinctually relied on his sense of smell and hearing to track his enemies. But, he realized that these new vampires seemed able to not make any noise at all. He was momentarily surprised when he felt a set of claws slash at his shoulder. Recovering, he slashed out blindly, and heard a loud keening; he had apparently caught something. The smell of ash briefly registered before fading. Whatever he'd hit, it didn't stay around long.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the mist actually solidify. Turning in that direction, he saw a vampire chare him, its claws spread out, its teeth bared. The vampire lunged at Logan, its eyes glowing red in the night. Logan slashed at the creature, aiming at its chest. He would have connected, except that the vampire exploded into mist just before Logan was able to kill it. Turning, Logan hunched his shoulders, his arms at the ready, and his legs set wide, and bent at the knees. He saw the vampire he'd just tried to kill re-solidify in front of him.

The vampire once again lunged at him, its teeth bared, its clawed hands out at the ready. The feral man stood waiting, his claws at the ready, his teeth bared in a snarl. Just before the creature was about to connect with Logan, it once again, became mist. But the mutant was ready for it.

When the vampire became mist, Logan simply held out his hand. A moving cloud of mist collided with the invisible wall the mutant had created. The vampire re-materialized suddenly, its body lying on the ground. With lightning fast reflexes, Logan was upon the undead creature, his lips pulled back into a ferocious snarl. He ran his claws through the vampire's heart with a singly powerful thrust; the undead creature keening in its death throes.

"Very good, Wolverine," a sinister voice said behind him. "You have single-handedly killed one of my lieutenants. He was one of my greatest fighters. Poor Deacon."

Logan turned, and saw a tall man with black hair, and Mediterranean features. "You are to be commended. However, I think it would be best if you look behind you." He turned, and saw that the mist was lifting. No … not lifting … it was solidifying into vampire after vampire. Beyond where they were solidifying, he saw that there were maybe a dozen Death Dealers still alive. They had stopped fighting, awestruck by the size of the army that had come out of nowhere.

He could tell that none of the Death Dealers had escaped without a scar. Several were sporting broken arms; all were cut on their faces, and their hands. Jean, Michael, and Selene were standing amongst the warriors, panting from exertion. Selene had a gash running across her forehead; her leather jumpsuit was torn in half a dozen places, revealing unnaturally pale skin. Michael had fared better; perhaps because of the supernatural speed at which he could move. But, yet, there were bullet wounds in several places along his chest and abdomen. They were healing, though, not as fast as he or Jean could. And, Jean, he saw, had a distant, almost primal, look in her eyes that must have been awakened during the fighting.

Behind the Death Dealers, there were still the werewolves. He hadn't been anywhere close to them when the fighting had started. But, now, he saw that they had fared much better than their enemies. Nonetheless, he could tell that there were fewer werewolves than what there had been earlier. He didn't know why they were still there, or what caused them to fight, but he knew that had it not been for them, they could've all been dead by now.

As he watched, the vampires that had once been mist started attacking the other combatants. Seeing that they were overmatched, he charged into the ranks of the vampires, slashing, slicing, and cutting at anything that moved. With every fatal strike, the vampires exploded into clouds of black ash. When he sliced off a limb, the part that was cut off also became ash. The stump that was left burned as a smoldering fire wherever his claws had been.

He noticed that Jean's claws seemed to be having the same effect that his were. But, he had noticed that all the others were not able to dispatch their enemies as quickly, or, sometimes, as permanently. The only way the Death Dealers and werewolves were able to kill their enemies was to cut or tear off their heads. And, he saw that it was not exactly easy to incapacitate these newer vampires; he'd already found that if you didn't get them with the first strike, they would make sure you paid for it.

"We're going to need help," Logan said simply. But, even as he said it, more of these undead monsters swept into the alley. He realized they were being slowly and assuredly overrun. He opened up a channel on his communicator, and began the message that Scott would hear several hours later, just before his own battle.

During the transmission, the battle seemed to pick up again. A werewolf suddenly appeared near him, savagely fighting in his (or her; he wasn't exactly sure) lupine form. The lycanthrope lashed out with its claws, decapitating a vampire. At the same time, it grabbed another _nosferatu_, crushing its throat and spine in its other hand. A vampire leapt onto its chest, but the werewolf rolled with the motion. On its back, the werewolf used the vampire's momentum, and kicked it in the abdomen, carrying the undead creature flying past his head.

Leaping, the werewolf landed on the back of another one of the undead. It snapped its jaws shut on the vampire's head, and with a singular movement, tore it off with a sickening ripping sound. Suddenly, Logan saw a _nosferatu_ pick up one of the Death Dealers' dropped guns. Taking a knee, it opened fire on full automatic, silver hollow point bullets shredding the lycanthrope's hide in seconds. The large werewolf fell the ground, seizing, its teeth shattering as its mouth slammed shut. From each of the wounds, foul-smelling smoke was being emitted.

Dropping his communicator, Logan charged the vampire with the gun. As he closed in on the undead warrior, he screamed, "It'll take more than silver bullets ta keep me down!" With a single swipe of his claw, Logan slashed upward through the vampire's entire body. The movement was so fast, the body fell to the ground in four pieces, before billowing into a cloud of ash.

Suddenly, at his side, Jean, Michael, and Selene appeared. "We're losing," Selene intoned. "There are less than a dozen Death Dealers, and only two or three dozen lycans out of a hundred. We need to find a way out of this alley."

"The four of you are going nowhere," the voice of the apparent leader booming out. He appeared again, less than five yards in front of them. "You will all die this very night, in this very alley."

"Not likely, bub," Logan replied testily. "We've fought yer kind before."

"So I've heard," the vampire responded. "But, I think you will find I am much better prepared than you might think." He held out his hand, to reveal a violet crystal ball clutched in his fingers. "You see, I already knew that you, Wolverine, and your lovely wife, Phoenix, would pose the greatest threat to me. Without the two of you, I can easily convert or kill the entire vampire and lycan population of this city. Even the mighty hybrid Michael could do nothing to stop me." The ball began glowing with a soft light, the color of the crystal giving it an eerie cast. "So, I have come prepared." With that, two beams of violet light erupted from the crystal ball, striking Logan and Jean directly in the middle of their chests.

Immediately, they fell to their knees, clutching their chests in pain. Wounds that had been healing suddenly stopped, and began bleeding out. Around their claws, blood began dripping from their skin. Their eyes rolled into their heads, and their skin became pallid, and cool.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Michael realized that whatever the crystal was, it had taken away their mutant powers.

- - - -

**Now – Jornada del Muerto**

"A bigger army," Scott asked, almost unbelievably.

"I think so," Angela reaffirmed. "They're coming from every direction."

The shock being replaced by resolve, Scott's features hardened. "How long can your shield protect us," Cyclops asked Marty.

"I don't know," the physicist replied. "If we were to assume that they haven't learned from last night, a dangerous assumption at best, then maybe five or ten minutes. More realistically, when they realize what it is, they'll probably know how to bring it down in under five minutes."

"So we won't be able to rely on it being able to work," the other man replied rhetorically. He thought for a moment, going over different scenarios in his mind. "A trap," he finally said. He turned to Marty again. "How long can you sustain that fire shield?"

"Several hours, if necessary," Marty replied. "Why? What do you have in mind?"

Cyclops answered with a question. "Did you know that, given enough time, I could theoretically bore a hole through a mountain?"

- - - -

Nearly an hour later, they were standing again in the center of Marty's circle of fire. The first wave of the creatures was within a stone's throw, and was within several yards of the shield. The gathered humans stood in a loose circle, each one facing a different direction. A grim aura had fallen over them; they knew they may be staring Death in the face. But, they had all made a silent oath that if they went down in the fight, they would take as many of the creatures with them as possible.

"I'm going to ask this once more," Cyclops said.

Before he could ask his question, Seraph replied. "And I already told you, Cyke, I'm not leaving. You need everyone here to fight. If any one of us is not ready to fight, the likelihood that one of us, or all of us, don't make it past tonight increases twofold. And I'd never be able to live with myself if I were to go for help, only to find you all dead." She looked back towards the creatures before her, eyes like flint. Her entire body was ready for the fight, her arms hanging loose at her sides, her wings slightly relaxed, and drooping slightly. "Besides," she continued, "the only ones able to help us right now are in New York." She paused, glaring daggers at Cyclops. "Unless, of course, the Hulk is somewhere around here. But, he hasn't been seen in almost a year."

"Fine," Cyclops said resignedly. He turned to the others, and catching their gazes, said, "Be ready, people. Whether this trap succeeds or not, we'll still be inundated with enemies. Watch each others' backs, and don't get separated from the others." He caught each person's eyes, making sure he had their attention. "If you get separated from the main group, there will be little we will be able to do for you."

As the short speech ended, the creatures were pushing against the shield. Those that had been in the first line of the attack had met the fire shield's defenses; their corpses shells of carbonized flesh. But, now, the creatures were all pushing against it, from each side. Though the ones in the front were still being burned to a crisp, the sheer number of creatures was starting to overwhelm the shield. Finally, a single five-foot wide part of the circle collapsed, allowing a torrent of shiny, black carapaces to enter the camp.

"NOW," Cyclops yelled at Marty. Holding his hands wide, the physicist, with but a thought, let down the circle of fire he had been holding. Immediately, the masses of creatures surged forward … and fell into a deep trench formerly hidden behind the wall of flame. As the creatures fell into the trap, Marty re-created the circle of fire; this time behind the trench.

"How long do you think it will hold," Bishop asked Marty. As he asked, several creatures were climbing up the steep bank of the trench, trying to get to the opposite side. But, as they reached the shelf, the touched the fire wall, and immediately were consumed in fiery infernos.

"I can't say for sure," Marty replied. "All I can say is that it'll last longer than the first. But, how much longer, I can't say."

The creatures kept falling into the trench that Cyclops and Seraph had created under the cover of the fire shield. Some were trying to jump over it; but they met the business end of the flaming circle as they did. Their carapaces fell to the ground, becoming clouds of ash before they even hit the ground. Others, after they fell into the trench, started climbing up its side, and coming to their ends the same way as their companions.

"We're going to have to worry about them jumping through the fire wall," Bishop stated, studying how the shield reacted to the creatures. He already knew, from the previous night, that it would give under enough pressure. Now, they only had to hope that it would hold long enough.

- - - -

Nearly thirty minutes had passed before the creatures changed their strategy. They had stopped charging the barrier, and were now seemingly standing just beyond the trench. But, the people in the camp had already noticed that they weren't just standing around. They seemed to be making some kind of guttural sounds. And, Marty had had the dubious honor to inform them that the creatures were speaking amongst themselves.

"What do you think they're talking about," Ana asked Shift.

"I've no idea," the X-Woman replied. "But, we can bet it won't be good."

"They could be talking about what they're going to do with us after they've defeated us," Marty supplied. "They've been known to keep people alive as their eating them. Maybe they'll cut off an arm, and cauterize the wound so you'll stay fresh. They like to do that. Though they tend to prefer newborn children, if they can get them. It's thought…."

"Marty!" Ana cut him off sharply. "Unless you have something to say that won't make us queasy, I advise you to be quiet." Beside her, Shift was giving him a withering stare, daring him to keep on speaking.

"They're trying something new," Lobo suddenly shouted. He pointed ahead of him, where one of the creatures had just jumped into the trench.

"Oh shit," Marty screamed. "I forgot they can dig."

Bishop glared at the physicist. "That would've been nice to know earlier."

"It's too late for that now," Cyclops stated. "Be ready, people. We're not going to get a second chance at this." Ahead of him, a small bulge was coming out of the earth. He raised his hand to his visor, ready to fire at a moment's notice. He waited steadily, readying himself to fire with all he was worth.

A single clawed hand suddenly appeared above the earth, before retreating just as quickly as it had come. This isn't going to be good, Cyclops thought. They heard a sudden rumbling beneath their feet, feeling like a small temblor. All at once, the ground where he'd seen the single hand appear exploded into the air, dust and dirt obscuring his view. But, he didn't have to worry long about his view, as a great wave of the creatures burst through the hole, and into their camp.

Cyclops unleashed his optic blast, ruby energy washing over the creatures with irresistible force. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a stream of sky blue energy aiming in the same direction. Together, he and Seraph were destroying the first wave with brutal efficiency. But, yet, there were several that were able to get past them. Bishop, his guns drawn, started firing at the creatures, aiming for their heads.

A creature that had gotten past both Seraph and Cyclops jumped, aiming for Bishop. It was caught in mid-air by a black, furry blur. Bryan dug his claws into the creature's shoulder blades, the exoskeleton crunching like stale tortilla chips. Holding the creature down with his lycanthropic strength, he bit into the thing's throat, tearing it out with an abrupt, brutal shake of his head.

Bishop raised his fists, and fired a devastating blast at a group of the beasts that were trying to sneak up on Bryan. The blast disintegrated the creatures, as another group took their place behind them. He fired again, just as he felt a creature land on his back. Grabbing the creature by its wrist, the large man threw it over his shoulder. Already running towards the creature before it landed, Bishop fired a concussive blast from his fist just as it landed. The blast couldn't have been timed more perfectly; it imploded the creature's exoskeleton, the blood exploding outward from the sudden pressure.

He stopped to wipe the ichor and clumps of matter off his face, depositing it on the ground with a flick of the wrist. He looked at his hand and what was still on it, his lips curled back in disgust. In that moment, he heard the sound of something unsheathing. Turning, he saw one of the creatures standing behind him, its tusks fully extended. Its teeth were bared in a fearsome snarl; if he didn't know better, he'd say it was an almost victorious smile. It lowered its head, and with a singular movement, it surged forward, roaring loudly.

But, before it could move more than a step, it was lifted abruptly, and violently into the air. Seraph had swooped down from behind the creature, hooking her arms beneath the creature's. She pulled out of her dive, two flaps of her wings sending her well on her way into the air. Ascending to fifty feet, she dove again, descending almost vertically, picking up speed at a terrifying rate. Just as she was about to collide with the ground, she pulled up. Before her speed bled out, she threw the creature with all her worth, their momentum adding to her strength. She watched with a half-smile as the creature flipped through the air, its arms pinwheeling helplessly.

She dove back to the earth, and caught her gaze with Bishop's. He nodded in thanks as she flew past. Half-saluting in response, she banked hard to her right, lining up for an attack run. Targeting a line of creatures, she unleashed with a powerful blast of energy, demolishing their ranks to little more than ash. Below her, Marty looked on with interest. She's the most powerful of her kind, he thought to himself.

Near him, Cyclops was firing blast after blast at the creatures. He was shooting small blasts of energy, targeting small groups of the things at a time. The creatures had started trying to get out of the way of his optic blasts. But, they were largely unsuccessful. If they were able to get out of Cyclops' firing path, they were met with a veritable wall of adversaries. Lobo, Shift, and Nightcrawler were making short work of the few creatures that were able to escape. Bryan and Ana were protecting Marty from being harmed.

But, while they were doing this, none of them noticed one of the creatures get passed all of them. It was almost on Cyclops when he noticed the creature out of the corner of his eye. He turned, just as the creature swiped at him with its claws. They dug into his shoulder, the usually stoic man crying out in pain. If he hadn't moved, though, the claws would have gone through his ribcage. The creature landed, and was on him in an instant. "A little help," he yelled, trying to get the creature off of him.

"No worries, mate," Shift called. Tentacles wrapped around the creature, pinning its arms down, and bending its head upward. Shift lifted the creature off of Cyclops, and with a thought, the tentacles twisted, and pulled the creature in half. Cyclops winced, both from pain, and from seeing the creature's entrails fall to the ground in a steaming pile.

But, despite that, Cyclops was fed up. "Marty," he called. "Let down the shield!"

"What," the physicist asked incredulously.

"Let the shield down," Cyclops repeated. "And duck." The shield died suddenly, revealing the number of creatures before them. Cyclops ripped off his visor, and opened his eyes. The full force of his optic blast flowed like a torrent, washing over the creatures with undeniable force. He turned a slow semicircle, the massive surge of energy clearing a massive area. As he finished the half-circle, he closed his eyes, closing off the unstoppable force. As he placed his visor back on, he surveyed the damage.

"Damn," Ana exhaled, taking in the devastation. Having never met Cyclops, she had no idea how powerful his mutant power could be. For several hundred feet in almost every direction, there was almost nothing. All that was left were hundreds upon hundreds of corpses, all seemingly crushed as if under a massive shoe. "Remind me," she said to Cyclops, "to never get on your bad side."

Directly behind them, the only direction that Cyclops hadn't turned to, a large group of creatures suddenly charged them. Lobo, the first to notice the attack, ran to meet their charge. He jumped into their first line of ranks, raking and slashing at anything that moved. His massive jaws clamped down on the back of a creature's neck. With a single sideways motion of his neck, he'd broken the creature's, and sent it flying into the crowd. He backhanded three of them in the same blow, sending all of them sprawling into the dirt.

The creatures shook their heads, seemingly trying to get rid of the dizziness. They leapt off the ground, and once again charged him. Lobo jumped into their small group, his weight driving the three of them to the ground. With a single blow from his clenched fist, he crushed the skull of one of the creatures. He drew his hand out of the skull, blood, bone, and brain matter matting his fur down. Without thinking, he brought the same hand, his claws extended, into a massive strike against the skull of the one he landed on. Its skull didn't so much split open, as it collapsed, that much more ichor on his hand.

He turned suddenly, catching movement in the corner of his eye. The third creature rushed him, its head lowered, its tusks extended. Before he could react, Lobo felt the tusk puncture his left side, just below his liver, and exit through his right kidney. He roared in pain, the Wolf fighting to gain dominance. He swiped at the tusk with everything he could, his massive hand breaking the bone with a single blow. Breaking off the tusk only caused him more pain, a part of his mind wanting to only kill the creature before him.

He surged forward, jaws wide, claws ready to rend flesh. But, a sudden weight fell on his shoulders, as a creature leapt on his back. It bit into his shoulder, as far as it could manage. A new pain blossomed through his chest, on the edge of losing his sanity. A single clawed hand reached up to the creature's skull. He dug his claws into the monster's eyes, and began to squeeze. The muscles in his forearm, veritable cables of steel, creaked with the effort. The thing's skull suddenly cracked with the sound of a shotgun.

Even as he killed the one on his back, another charged him from the side. Joey fell to the ground, dazed. The same one that had tackled him leapt on top of him, its jaws clapping on air as it tried to get his neck. Joey brought his knees to his chest, and with a Herculean effort, kicked the creature off of him. As it fell away, two more fell on his arms, trying to pin him. Grabbing their chins, he slammed their heads together, blood and brain matter exploding on to his chest.

Two more leapt on him, while his arms were above him. But, instead of trying to pin him down, their claws cut through his exposed underarms. They rent muscle, arteries, and nerves. Joey knew it wouldn't be long for him to heal from the wounds.

But, it would be long enough. He looked up, only to see a creature standing over his head, its arm drawn back, claws spread wide.

I should never have gotten separated from the group, Joey thought, as the claws descended.


	9. Fire and Water

AN: Again, I'm sorry about the delay. This past month was very, very hectic.

Chapter 9: Fire and Water

Joey looked up in dread, fear coursing through his body. But, as the claws began to descend, the creature was suddenly distracted, looking above Joey's abdomen. The lycanthropic mutant followed the creature's gaze.

The things that had cut through his muscle and tendons were floating above him. It seemed that some invisible force had grabbed them, and was not about to let go. As he watched, he heard the unmistakable sound of the creatures' chitinous skeletons beginning to crack. All of a sudden, it occurred to him that not only were they being held in the air, but something was crushing them. He noticed that their arms and legs were being pressed against their bodies, as if they were malformed. With an abrupt cracking, blood gushed like a fountain from one of their abdomens. The falling liquid seemed to highlight a formerly invisible bubble that, as he watched, seemed to be getting smaller.

They **were** getting smaller, he realized. As the spheres got smaller, the pressure inside them increased. And, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what would happen next. Two thunderous cracks rang through the hot air, filling the creatures with dread, and the heroes with hope. The things in the bubbles popped open, like a cockroach under a massive foot.

The creature above Joey's head roared in aggravation. Raising its hand, it swung it claws, aiming for his brainpan…. But, its claws hit an invisible shield, bending its hand at an awkward angle. The creature howled in pain, blood spurting out of its wrist, its hand hanging on by only the barest amount of its skeleton.

A sudden blur of silver caught Joey's eyes as he looked up. Before he knew what happened, he heard and felt a thunderous tremor, as something hit the ground at high velocity. Looking above his head, Joey saw a massive splotch of red-orange blood where the creature had been. Around it, he could see a cloud of dust had erupted from whatever had hit the ground, and was settling next to the blood. He realized the dust and blood were highlighting another barrier, this one protecting him.

Out of the dust, a great arm appeared, covered entirely in silver metal. A creature charged the metal figure, its tusks bared. The figure's arm lashed out at the creature, the metal-covered forearm striking the creature in the midsection. The force of the blow was so great, the forearm went straight through the monster's body. The top half kept going forward, covering another ten yards, while the bottom half fell backwards.

The figure turned towards Joey, and asked in slightly accented English, "Are you alright, tovarisch?"

- - - -

**One Minute Earlier**

"Goddamn," Jake exclaimed. He was looking at the battle below through the cockpit. "It looks like a scene from "Starship Troopers"."

Below them, creatures with black exoskeletons, and long, grey tusks were attacking the small number of X-Men. Cyclops had just fired off a massive burst of energy in almost a complete circle. And, as they watched, they saw Lobo jump into a group of creatures that had charged them from the only direction Cyclops couldn't get to.

"Time to go to work," Warlock sighed to himself. He turned to his fellow X-Men. "Iceman, Cable, Colossus, the three of you are going to be with me on the ground. Storm, I want you to attack these things from the back of their ranks. Try to confuse them; make them lose rank and turn tail." He smiled wryly. "And if that doesn't work, show them why they call you the Windrider.

"Rogue, I want you and Colossus to be the first out. Make an entrance."

"Sure thing, sugah," she replied.

"Archangel," he continued, turning towards the winged mutant. "After we've cleared an area, I want you to start getting people out." Warlock turned towards the other man, looking in the eye. "Start with the people that've been down there longest. Rogue, once we've made an area, I want you to help Archangel." He turned towards the powerful woman. "You'll make the last trip to the ground to pick me up." She nodded in acquiescence.

"Beast?"

"Yes," the massive, blue-furred doctor answered.

"Be ready with a med-kit, and maybe a couple of cots. Someone's bound to be hurt. Let's go people!"

"Jake," Betsy called from the cockpit. He looked up, catching her eyes as she twisted half out of her chair. "Be careful, luv."

"Always," he replied, his eyes gleaming devilishly.

- - - -

**Now**

Joey was momentarily stunned; the sudden appearance of one of his teammates surprising him. He finally had enough sense of mind to nod his head slightly.

"Good," Colossus answered. But, even as he spoke, creatures charged him, slashing at the massive man with their claws. But, it was to no avail. They only managed to break off their fingers, or worse, their hands. "You will have to do better than that if you wish to defeat me."

Frustrated, the creatures began dogpiling him. Two grabbed onto his arms, but he easily swatted them away. While he was busy knocking the other two away, a third charged him from the front, its tusks unsheathed. The creature collided with Colossus' metal hide, the tusks breaking on impact. Unable to stop, the creature kept coming, its head smacking into the Russian's abdomen, leaving a smear of foul-smelling blood.

"Ugh," the big man grunted, examining the blood in disgust. The creature fell to the ground, its skull caved in, revealing flecks of black exoskeleton over a yellow-grey brain. He curled his lips in disgust, as a weight hit him from behind. Another one had tried to tackle him.

As the armored man struggled to get the creature off his back, more tackled him. Over a dozen leaped on him from every direction. The first ones grabbed on to his arms, legs, neck, anywhere they could find purchase. More came, landing on the backs of the first wave, digging their claws into their comrades' backs to get purchase. Yet, they still could not fell the mighty Colossus.

"Get off of me," he yelled. With a single movement, as if shrugging off a massive coat, he sent the creatures flying. But, seven still clung to him. He focused first on the one on his right arm, the one with the weakest hold. He raised his arm up violently, the creature's grip slackening, and its chest appearing below his hand. He threw his hand down, as if spiking a ball, his massive palm breaking through its exoskeleton, and nearly cleaving it in half.

He grabbed the creature on his left arm with his right hand, and with a Herculean demonstration of strength, threw the creature. Its body twisted in the air, as it became little more than a speck on the horizon. He reached down, and pulled off two of the creatures on his legs. Lifting them by their heads, he rammed their heads together. Their heads exploded into little more than mush; they collided with such force, it was not only heard across the battlefield, but also felt. A fleck of bloodied carapace landed on the back of Iceman's head, fifty feet away.

"What the…," he exclaimed, touching the back of his head. "Ech," he yelled, seeing what was now on his hand, dropping it to the ground. A creature ran towards him, it tusks unsheathed, trying to take advantage of his distractedness. But, the iced mutant saw it out of the corner of his eyes, and with a thought, froze it to the ground.

Meanwhile, as ice-spikes erupted over Iceman's skin, Colossus bent down to deal with the other two creatures. Before he could reach them, Lobo, newly healed, pulled them off the bigger man. The lycanthropic mutant fell on the creatures, claws rending flesh and carapace with ease. He closed his fists on their necks, his strength combined with the sharpness of his claws allowing him to get a firm grip. His clawed fingers erupted through their necks on the opposite sides of his fists. With a quick movement, he tore off their heads, red-orange blood coating his forearms in thick torrents.

A sudden movement caught his attention out of the corner of his eyes. Creatures stood in formed lines less than ten yards in front of him. As he watched, they surged forward, a mighty battle cry coming out of their throats. A ball of dread formed in his gut as he realized they were working to cut both him and Colossus off from the rest of the group. He and the massive Russian readied themselves, awaiting the veritable living wave to reach them.

But, before the creatures reached them, the temperature around them dropped dramatically, almost violently. A strong wind suddenly came out of the north, carrying with it an arctic chill that could cut to the bone. The wind blew into the creatures, stopping them almost immediately; they didn't seem to like the cold weather. As if to add insult to injury, snow began falling on the creatures, and only on them. Large, fluffy white flakes began falling, slow at first, but picking up speed. Carried on the wind, the snow began falling as a blizzard, visibility cut to almost nil. But, yet, it still picked up, becoming a complete white-out, nothing to be seen but the cold emptiness of the snow.

As the snow began letting up, Lobo glanced upward. Above them, Storm was hovering, her eyes milky white with power, her hair flowing with the wind, almost as if they were one. She extended her snow storm over another part of the battlefield, covering another massive group of creatures with the white stuff. Watching her, he realized she was the very epitome of a goddess: beautiful and terrible in her power.

On another part of the battlefield, Iceman smiled jovially. "Chill out," he called, covering a half dozen creatures in sub-zero water. Because of Storm's … storm, not only had the humidity rose, but the temperature had dropped. It was perfect weather for his powers; as opposed to the dry desert heat that they'd previously been experiencing.

"As if we haven't heard that one before," Warlock replied facetiously. He cut a creature in half as it leapt towards him, his sword dripping with red-orange blood. He kicked out at another's head, the toe of his boot hitting it at the base of the neck. It fell as if a sack of potatoes, its neck broken. Several dozen other creatures charged him, their tusks extended, their claws wide. Drawing his hand back, electricity began collecting around his wrist. With a sudden movement, he thrust his hand forward, the electrical charge discharging, effectively roasting them on the spot.

"You're just jealous," Iceman replied, half-serious. "You don't have a cool saying to go with your powers." He fired a blast of ice, freezing another group of creatures solid.

"Maybe," Warlock answered. He caught sight of Cable out of the corner of his eye. The big man had been surprised by one of the large man-bugs; he was on his back, one of the creature's claws drawn back over its head. Cable raised his left arm, and it suddenly became enveloped in metal. He grabbed the creature's arm, and crushed it in his grip, red-orange blood oozing over the metal as its hand fell to the ground. He hefted it over his head, and threw it as hard as he could. The creature's body landed in a large group of others that were still marching forward.

Catching sight of the new bugs marching towards them, Cable reached out with his impressive telekinesis. He crushed them with but a thought, as if a gigantic shoe had just come down on top of the creatures.

"Nice," Warlock said, disgusted. "Now I can say I've gotten a close-up view of what happens to a cockroach when its stepped on by a boot."

"It worked, didn't it," the other man asked pointedly.

"Yeah," Warlock answered, as he saw Celeste walking towards them. She was helping Scott towards them; it seemed as if they were attached at the shoulder. But as they got closer, he could see that blood was covering his entire left arm, as if he'd been bathing in it.

"One of those drongos got Scott in the shoulder," she explained coming up to them. They could see now that she had attached herself to his shoulder to stop the bleeding. His arm seemed to be hanging limply, as if nothing more than dead flesh.

"That's when we saw that big show of force, isn't it," he said, more a statement than a question. She nodded in reply. Warlock turned to find Rogue. She was flying low; as he watched she flew through a field of the creatures, bowling them over. _Rogue? I need you to start taking people up to the jet, starting with Scott here._

_Ah'm comin', sugah_, she replied telepathically. Even as she sent the message, she flew higher, veering towards them. "What happened to him," she asked, landing, eyeing Scott.

"One of them winged him; it may've gotten an artery," Celeste replied.

"Get him up to the jet," Warlock ordered.

"C'mon, sugah, let's go see Hank," Rogue said, taking Scott in her arms, and shooting into the air.

Turning his face skyward, Warlock reached out telepathically. _Archangel, I need you to start evacuating people; start with one of the civilians down here._ He felt the winged mutant's affirmative in his mind even as he focused on several others. _Seraph, Storm,_ he called. _When the others are evacuating, I want the two of you to provide cover. Keep these ugly sons-a-bitches as far back as possible. We'll take care of any that might get passed you._

"Storm and Seraph are going to be covering us from the air while Rogue and Archangel are evacuating people." Warlock turned towards his teammates. "We're going to be guarding the people on the ground," he continued. He led the way, as they made a loose circle around the exhausted combatants. They were just in time to see Warren take Marty in his arms.

- - - -

Warlock, Cable, and Colossus were the last three on the ground.

The big telepath was holding back the tide of insect-like creatures with a massive TK shield. Although he wouldn't admit it, it was clear that the constant hammering of the humanoid insects was giving him a migraine, if only evidenced by his pained expression.

"Are you sure," the time-tossed telepath asked Warlock.

"Yeah," the other man replied. "We need to make sure these things, whatever they are, don't get to civilization."

"And you are the one to do it, _tovarisch_," Colossus asked, concerned.

"Storm could help," Warlock began. "But, there's no way to guarantee she'd be able to get them all. Iceman could help too; but the same problem arises." He shook his head grimly. "Betsy's flying the jet; I'm the only one that can kill all of these creatures without them escaping. And for what I'm planning," he turned towards his teammates, "it'd be safer if everyone were in the jet."

"What are you going to do," Cable asked, wincing as the creatures redoubled their efforts against his TK shield.

"I'm going to make Johnny Storm green with envy," he replied, a stony look coming into his eyes.

"You realize," Colossus said, "if you die, Betsy will find a way to bring you back, only to kill you again for being a hard-headed idiot."

Warlock looked at him out of the corner of his eyes. "Don't I know it," he said. As he finished his sentence, Rogue flew down to the ground, landing next to Colossus.

"Sugah, Ah can pick ya'll both up at the same time," she said, talking to Warlock.

"No, we've got to make sure to get rid of these fuckers," he replied. "Just be ready to pick me up at my signal."

"What'll be the signal?"

"You'll know it when you see it," he answered cryptically, the devilish glint returning to his eyes. "Now get the hell outta here." Rogue nodded in acquiescence, picking up Colossus under his arms, and flying into the air.

"Go ahead and let down the shields," Warlock said to Cable.

"If you die, I'm the one that's going to be blamed," the bigger man said bluntly.

"Yeah, and then you'll have to deal with Betsy in less than a savory mood," he replied jokingly. "And having seen her in a bad mood … I'd have to wish you the best of luck." He turned towards the Summers' progeny. "Now, go," he said, his voice becoming serious. Cable nodded as he floated into the air, the TK shields falling as he climbed into the hot air.

"Okay, boys," Warlock said, as flames began dancing over his forearms. "Let's see if my theory holds true." He began concentrating, trying to spread the flames over his body. In the back of his mind, he was aware of the approaching sound of thousands of insect-man creatures. Their footsteps, all of them moving at exactly the same time, reached his ears, like a massive hellish army.

Opening his eyes, he saw that they had marched much closer. They were deliberately taking their time, sure that one man could do nothing against all of them. But, he realized, belatedly, that it was the wrong thing to do. The flames surrounding his arms abated some, the exact opposite of what he wanted them to do. He could feel the sun beating down on his back, sweat rolling down his collar. The sound of the insect-men's snarling, and marching threatened to panic him. But, he clenched his teeth, forcing the rising panic to the back of his mind.

But, yet, he could not get the flames to spread. He **knew** he could get them to spread, to cover his entire body, if only momentarily. How, or why, he knew, he did not know. But, it was not a matter of knowing he could do it, only a matter of knowing how to do it. And that was what was frustrating him. Turning, he caught sight of the sun, and briefly wondered if maybe he'd made a mistake.

He realized, suddenly, that the flames had flared when he thought of the sun. They had briefly jumped just past his elbows. He looked around to see, to his shock, the creatures within two dozen steps of him. He closed his eyes, contracting his entire body. He pictured a close-up of the sun, roiling solar flares erupting from its surface. He thought about the heat, and suddenly felt the flames spread across his body.…

- - - -

Aboard the jet, Betsy looked on with trepidation. She kept telling herself she wasn't going to kill him. She wasn't going to kill him. She turned to Cable behind the pilot's seat. "What did he say he was going to do," she asked through clenched teeth.

"He said he was going to make Johnny Storm green with envy."

As the big man finished his sentence, there was a sudden flash from the ground. Looking out the nearest window, he saw an almost blinding light, reminiscent of an H-bomb. He realized it was Jake, his entire body surrounded by white flame. The flames seemed to collapse in on themselves. Then, in a single, abrupt, massive burst of energy, the flames exploded outward. The light was too much for his eyes, and he slammed them shut. In the afterimage, he could see the flames moving as if they had their own minds, roiling over the ground as a living wave of fire. The great burst of energy, too, reminded him of a nuclear bomb. He could almost imagine a mushroom cloud erupting from where Jake stood.

"That must've been his signal," Rogue said, trying to blink the afterimage out of her eyes. She exited the jet, and flew to the ground.

She returned less than a minute later, a semiconscious Jake in her arms. Handing him to Hank, she said, "He melted everything around him."

"Everything," the blue-furred scientist asked incredulously.

"Yeah," she answered. "It looked like there'd been an eruption, or somethin'." Hank took the smaller man further into the jet, and laid him down next to a bandaged Scott. After doing a few standard tests, he looked up, relieved.

"He's going to be fine," he said. "He seems to have tested the limits of his powers. I suspect that if we were to query him at a later point, he would confirm that."

"He's going to be okay," Betsy asked. She'd turned the jet around, making a heading for New York, and had put it on autopilot.

"Yeah, 'm gonna be fine," Jake answered weakly. "It'd take more than those fuglies to take me out."

"You bloody idiot," she said, kissing him. "If you ever do something that stupid again," she began, half-serious, "I'm going to feed you black pudding for a month."

"Ech," he cried. "Britons," he began with mock-seriousness, smiling widely, "have no taste in food."

"And Americans have no class," she finished, laughing freely. It was an inside joke from when she had actually tried to get him to try black pudding. It hadn't gone well. Later that evening, they'd stayed up half the night, he trying to prove British food was awful ("Spotted dick? Seriously, it sounds like a type of STD.") and she trying to prove Americans had no class ("Who in their right minds show off their knickers all day?"). In the end, they'd fallen asleep, neither one being able to prove their point.

"We need to get to L.A.," Scott suddenly spoke up.

"Why," Betsy asked, both she and Jake looking towards him.

"I got a distress call from Logan," he answered. "The computer recorded it. The message said he and Jean were in a war zone. In the background, it sounded like it. They were fighting something; something they were having a hard time with. But, that was last night."

"There's no telling what's happened to them since then," she said, considering what he had just said. "L.A. it is then." She went to the cockpit, and turning off the autopilot, changed her heading for Los Angeles.

- - - -

**Later – Los Angeles**

"Yeah, I can't tell Wolvie was here at ALL," Jubilee noted sarcastically.

They were currently standing in a dirty alley, an old dumpster at one end. On their right, not far beyond the dumpster, was the entrance to a small psychic shop. The alley itself looked as if a bomb had hit it. Blood splotches were scattered randomly over the pavement; they were already starting to take on a slight rust color. In several spots, there were body-sized indentations in the walls. Yet, what truly caught their attention were the number of scores in both the walls and the pavement. A few were five-clawed, made by clawed hands, the marks coming together as they ended.

Still others went deeper, made by three long blades, set close together. It was these that held their attention.

"Someone sure humped the dog here last night," Jake said grimly, eyeing the large amount of blood.

"What happened here," Ana asked, standing near Joey and Celeste.

"Logan happened," Scott answered acerbically. It earned him an annoyed glance from both Betsy and Jake.

"Considering the amount of damage, and the fact that Logan deemed it necessary to contact us," Hank said, "whatever happened could not have been good."

"There's a smell, here," Joey began. He was allowing his lupine senses to come forth, trying to find even the smallest evidence. "It's like blood, and death. But, there's something else to it. Something … something that is making me want to transform. I almost feel as if I should tear up everything here. It smells … I don't know."

"It smells tainted," Hank supplied.

"That as close a word as you will be able to get," a feminine voice suddenly spoke. They turned, to find a teenage girl standing in the door of the psychic shop. She looked tired, with circles beneath her eyes.

"What happened here," Betsy asked the girl, stepping towards her.

"You are friends of Wolverine and Phoenix," the girl asked rhetorically. "We knew you would be coming, but we were uncertain as to when you would arrive." She smiled widely, her eyes beaming.

"Who's 'we'," Betsy asked suspiciously.

"My grandmother and I," the girl answered. "She apologizes for not being able to greet you personally, but her arthritis is much worse in the morning. As such, she has asked me to greet you."

"And who are you?"

"A friend in these uncertain times," the girl answered vaguely. "It is good that you are here, as they will need your help."

"Where are they," Ororo asked.

"They are with friends that were unlooked for," the girl answered. "I will take you to see them." She walked out of the door, closing it behind her. "I will warn you ahead of time that you will likely want all of your people. And, I realize that I haven't answered your first question."

"Why haven't you answered it," Jake asked.

"Because it is not my place to answer it," the girl answered. "Now, as I have already said, it would be wise for you to have your entire team." She looked at both Jake and Betsy, as she spoke. They could not get over the feeling of eeriness the girl seemed to emanate from her. "I will wait until you have returned to show you the way to the den."

"Den," Hank asked, surprised.

- - - -

**One hour later – Beneath Los Angeles**

"Eww," Bobby groused. "Do I even want to know what I just stepped in?" They were moving through the sewers beneath the city. After everyone had gathered in the alley, the Chinese girl (who'd introduced herself as Zhu Chen) led them to the nearest manhole cover. And, of course, she then led them INTO the sewers. Now, the girl was leading them through the underworld of the City of Angels, with Jake and Betsy providing light with their swords. Unfortunately, Bobby had been wondering if the swords would be able to stand up to Thor's Mjolnir when he stepped in … something.

"Probably not, my heat challenged friend," Hank replied.

"Yeah," Bobby said. "You're probably right."

"Believe me," Joey spoke up next to him, "he is right." His eyes were yellow, a grey stubble on his face. "I can smell it from here."

At the front of the procession, the girl, Zhu, pointed in a new direction. "It is not far now," she said to Jake and Betsy. "But, I will warn you, once we are in the den, do not make any aggressive movements towards them." She turned back to the couple. "Though I am certain that your people can more than handle themselves in a fight, the ones we are going to visit are on edge. The battle last night was extraordinarily vicious, even for them."

"Who are they," Jake and Betsy asked as one.

"They are werewolves," Zhu answered. They suddenly came into a large, open gallery. Despite being underground, the gallery was remarkably well lit. Light came in the form of electric lamps hung from the ceiling equidistant from each other. A sudden animal smell assaulted their noses; it was almost like wet-dog, only with a wild undertone to it. Snarling, growling, and whining reached their ears. And, as their eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, they were surprised by what they saw.

Werewolves were all around them, in both human and wolf forms. Many were walking to and fro, going about their business, casting wary eyes at the newcomers. Children (or possibly cubs; it could go either way) scampered here and there playing with each other in small groups. There were several women nursing their newborns, their babies seeming as if stuck in transition, giving them an oddly cute appearance. Others, they saw to their embarrassment, were in the midst of coupling, the sounds of their lovemaking easily coming to their ears.

Irregardless of who they were, when they caught sight of the young Zhu, they cast their eyes down submissively. Any who happened to be in their way, hurriedly stepped aside, all the while keeping his or her eyes glued to the floor.

"They seem to know you," Jake said to Zhu, trying to keep his composure.

"Yes, they do," a new voice answered ahead of them. A man with long, brown hair, and a slightly haunted look in his eyes stood before them. Dressed in loose pants and a long coat, he was neither especially tall nor broad-shouldered. Yet, there was an aura of authority about him that was palpable. "Zhu was a major factor in our … victory last night."

"I was not that big of an asset," the girl replied, not accustomed to the spotlight.

"There are those who would say otherwise," the man replied. He took in the gathered X-Men appraisingly. "My apologies," he suddenly said. "Where are my manners? I am Andrew, and you are, undoubtedly, the X-Men."

"Where are Logan and Jean," Betsy asked, not wanting to wait any longer.

"This way," Andrew said easily, pointing behind him. "Please come with me." He turned around, and started walking deeper into the den, not bothering to look behind him.

Shrugging her shoulders, Betsy looked at Jake, and then the others in turn. "Might as well," she said, before she started forward, followed by the others. They entered a long, dark hallway. Every now and then, there was an opening to the side of the hallway that led, once again, into darkness. Andrew led them down a highway to the left, and then to the right. After that, though, Betsy lost track of exactly what direction they had turned, and where they were. The sewers were a veritable maze.

Several minutes later, they were led through a low doorway into a room that seemed to be reserved as a med-bay of sorts. There, to the left of the door, were two cots set side-by-side. In one, Logan was lying beneath an old blue blanket, his chest bare. To the casual observer, it would seem he was sleeping. But, the gathered X-Men knew better. He was healing, and by the look of it, was well on his way to being better.

In the next bed, Jean was lying. Like Logan, she was under a blanket, pulled to her underarms. Judging from her bare shoulders, she had been stripped of her clothing as well. She, too, seemed to be almost healed.

Next to them, a pale woman, with exquisite features, stood. Her hands were on the butts of two identical guns, ready to draw at a moment's notice. Her hard eyes softened at the sight of Andrew, though her hands still remained on the guns. Next to her, a man with dirty blonde hair stood, an old stethoscope draped over his neck. He didn't have as hard a glint in his eyes as the woman, but there was something about him that said he was no pushover.

"Who are they," Selene asked Andrew, never taking her hands off her guns.

"They are friends," he explained. "They are their teammates." He gestured towards Logan and Jean as he spoke.

"What happened to them," Jubilee asked, as she made her way to Logan's cot.

"We were in a battle last night," Selene answered. "They were hurt quite badly."

"How?"

"The … people we were fighting had a magic globe that robbed them of their powers," Michael explained. "Once the globe was destroyed, their powers kicked in, but they seemed to slip into comas."

"Yes," Hank suddenly spoke. Both the man and the woman were surprised by his appearance. But, they were both able to hide it almost as quickly. "When their bodies are damaged beyond a certain degree, their higher brain functions shut down. Though I am not entirely certain, it is my suspicion that this happens to shunt more energy into the healing process." He paused, holding his muzzle pensively. "It is also plausible that this coma state may prevent them from feeling the full pain of healing."

"I … see," Michael replied. He was more than a little surprised to find such an intelligent mind behind such an animalistic visage.

"What exactly happened last night," Jake asked, cutting to the point.

- - - -

**The Previous Night**

Michael was surprised to see Logan and Jean on the ground, barely hanging onto life. It had seemed to him they were nigh indestructible. His reverie was cut short as Selene appeared at his side. With a movement that could barely be discerned, she threw a small dagger at the cloaked vampire. To their dismay, it passed through the vampire as if through a cloud; air currents around the blade had caused swirling air currents in the leader's cloak.

"Damn it," she yelled, hearing the blade stick in the wall behind the leader.

"You shall have to do better than that, Death Dealer," the vampire leader said haughtily. But, even as he said it, Michael surged forward, so fast he wasn't even a blur. He lashed out with his clawed hands, hoping to grab the glowing, violet orb. But, as his hand approached the ball, a thin layer of purple light surrounded him, as if a second skin. Unable to move, he felt himself thrown backwards, the purple light dissipating as he crashed into a wall. He tried to stand, but his world started to spin, nausea assaulting him the more he moved.

Selene, seeing what happened to Michael, leapt forward, aiming a kick for the leader's head. But, the same violet light surrounded her, turning her upside down in mid-air. She was suddenly thrown threw the air, spinning wildly. She landed on her back, hitting her head on the pavement. She raised her head once, before her eyes rolled back, and she fell unconscious.

But, unseen by everybody, Logan, powerless, pain racking his entire body, had crept forward. It was testament to both his stubborn refusal to back down from any fight, and to his similarity to his moniker. Like his codename, he was stronger, faster, and much more dangerous than he appeared. It was just this that the cloaked leader of the vampires had not counted on. It was thus that he was surprised to hear Logan's voice at his feet.

"Ya should be talkin', bub," he said hoarsely. The vampire leader looked down, fear rushing through his veins for the first time. Before he could do anything, Logan's extended claws cut through his wrist, the blades so sharp he barely felt pain. As his hand fell away from his wrist, it carbonized, black dust exploding outwards, following the air currents. The violet orb fell, almost in slow motion. It kept on emitting energy until it hit the ground, shattering in a thousand pieces.

The moment the ball broke, Logan could feel his healing factor start working almost immediately. But, even as he felt it working, he passed out into a healing coma, blissfully unaware of what happened next.

The more powerful vampires, at seeing their leader hurt so suddenly, surged forward, intent on finishing off their enemies. But, they were stopped by a single, teenage girl, the tattoo on her left shoulder glowing angrily.

"You will harm no one else tonight," Zhu declared, her voice as cold as arctic ice. She stood in front of Logan, Jean, Selene, Michael, and the other combatants. She held her arms at her side, her legs spread apart.

"And what will you do, little girl," the vampire leader asked contemptuously.

"Simply this," Zhu answered. She raised her arms, her hands slightly above her head. Below them, the ground suddenly started to shake violently, almost as if an earthquake was striking. The shaking worsened, as pressure built up below their feet, one of the greatest forces of nature beckoning to the girl's call. Suddenly, a man-hole cover, behind the lycans, burst upward into the sky. It came sailing to the ground, the force behind it burying the metal disk half-way into the pavement. On the metal, innumerable droplets of water glistened under the moon.

Suddenly, form the same spot, a spout of grey water burst into the night air, its spray hitting several vampires in front of Zhu. Where the spray touched their faces, the skin began to burn, carbonizing the flesh. She smiled victoriously, the vampires' eyes widening in abject fear. She thrust her arms forward, as if commanding an army. The grey water leapt over the heads of the lycans, and Death Dealers, and crashed into the mass of evil vampires before her, instantly burning them alive.

- - - -

**Now**

Logan bolted straight upright, his claws unsheathing by their own accord. His eyes, normally sharp and alert, seemed almost vacant, frozen in a thousand yard stare. His nostrils flared, taking in the scents around him.

"Wolvie," Jubilee said simply, standing next to his cot. He blinked, his eyes coming into sharp focus. He looked around for the first time, spotting the girl by his side.

"Hey, darlin'," he replied. Selene noticed his normally scowling visage seemed to lighten at the sight of the girl. She wondered briefly if Jubilee was his daughter, biological or otherwise. Her thoughts, though, were cut short when Jean suddenly sat up as abruptly as Logan.

"Jeannie," Logan called. Her gaze fastened on Logan, her mind clearing, her memory falling into place.

"How did we get here," she asked, addressing it to anyone who'd answer.

"We were rescued," Andrew answered. He motioned towards Zhu. "The members of the Order are not to be underestimated." The girl blushed, looking down at the ground, unused to the attention. "After she saved us all, we brought you here, to heal."

"Thank you," Jean said warmly. Beside her, Logan nodded stiffly, thanking them in his own say.

Before anyone could reply to their appreciation, a glowing sphere of violet energy appeared in the middle of the room. "Not again," Logan groused grimly, his voice barely more than a growl. The sphere exploded outward, blinding them all in the bright light.

As the afterimages faded, they found that they had been teleported back to the "front" room. Unlike earlier, silence pervaded the entire room, as if catacombs. There, in the center of the room, the leader of the _nosferatu_ stood. He was wearing the same cloak from the night beforehand. But, he was wearing a hood over his head, concealing the top half of his face. Of what could be seen, large splotches of skin seemed to have sloughed off from intense heat.

"You did not expect to be rid of me that easily, did you," the leader asked haughtily. The newly teleported heroes, especially those that'd been in the battle the night before, looked on with surprise. "Yes, you did kill many of my devout followers. But, what you did not seem to know is that I am a mage of the highest order." He cackled dryly. "It was simply a matter of a sophomoric spell to make myself intangible, to be able to escape. And, as you can see, I was then able to follow you. Now, you will all come with me."

"You really think we'll give up so easily," Jake asked, glaring daggers at the leader.

"Of course not," the leader replied, laughing. "Do you take me as an idiot? No. I knew I'd need something to barter against you." He motioned with his hands to the darkness around the room. Out of the shadow numerous other vampires appeared. All of them had glowing, violet glass globes. Suddenly, out of each orb, beams of light struck the mutants in their chests. They fell to their knees, the sudden absence of their powers making them weak. Seeing what happened to the X-Men, Selene and Michael leapt to their aide.

Even before they could get more than a half the distance, the same purple energy surrounded them. They were thrown backwards into the wall behind them, falling unconscious almost immediately.

"When you awake," the leader said malevolently, "you will be in for a true surprise." He laughed dryly, motioning for his followers to take the heroes captive.


	10. The Halls of the Undead

Chapter 10: The Halls of the Undead

**Twelve Hours Later – 2:00a.m.**

Besides the throbbing pain in her head, the first thing Selene was aware of was that her hands were tied.

But, it took her a few moments longer to realize they were tied around a pole behind her back. She opened her eyes, only to find the room spinning. Her eyes moved of their own accord, back and forth, almost like a typewriter. She closed them again, fighting back the rising nausea. Resting her head against the pole, she took in several deep breaths, hoping to clear her head.

After a minute, she opened her eyes again. She sighed, half in contentment, half in relief, her vision clearing, the room standing still. Craning her head upwards, she saw she was tied around a pole. Directly above her, a recessed circle was built into the roof. Etched into the circle was a large sun, its rays stretching out into every direction. Dread filled her undead heart, as she realized what was going to happen to her.

They were planning on executing her. At dawn, they would open the recess, and allow the sun to kill her as it raced across the sky. It was the traditional, and preferred, way of killing traitors.

Her gaze fell to the ground before her. Michael was on his knees, chained to the ground. Reinforced silver manacles were fastened around his wrists, a similar collar fastened around his neck. The manacles and collar were attached to chains, which, in turn, were attached to large bolts cemented in the ground. His head hung limply to the side, still unconscious from the night before.

Behind him, on her right, she saw a dozen werewolves, all chained to the wall behind them. They were all in their human forms. Andrew, the leader of the L.A. pack, and brother of Lucian, was in the middle of them all. Next to him were several of his lieutenants, all of them chained the same as their leader. She also saw the werewolf that had come with Logan and Jean's teammates.

Suddenly, the door next to the werewolves' cell opened, expelling bright light. Squinting her eyes in the sudden brightness, she could make out one of the _nosferatu_ leading someone else into the room. It was dragging someone with it, she noticed. As they came through the door, she could see it was the female Death Dealer that had been captured with them. She didn't remember the girl's name, but she knew it began with an 'm'.

"If you don't want to answer our questions," the dark vampire snarled, "you'll die as will all your comrades."

"Better to die on my own terms," the Death Dealer seethed, spitting in the other vampire's face.

"Just for that," the _nosferatu_ snarled, "I'll personally turn you." He opened up another cell, on the other side of the door as the werewolves', and shoved her inside He chained her to the wall, roughly grabbing her wrists in his larger hands. Her wrist chained, he snorted up snot, and with an ugly smile, spat the loogie on her face. He laughed, seeing her turn her head in disgust. Closing the door, he snarled, "I'll catch you later."

Only after he left, did Selene notice the cell had glass enclosing it outside the thick bars. "Don't let them get to you," Selene offered grimly.

"I won't," Mia replied, curtly. She wiped the snotty spit on her upper shoulder, the only place she could reach with her face.

"Where are the others," Selene asked, wondering where Logan and Jean's teammates were.

"Behind you," Mia answered. She gestured vaguely with her head behind Selene. The gathered X-Men were chained to the wall behind Selene, once again within a cell. Their arms were secured in manacles above their heads, their bound legs spread wide. In front of each was a purple sphere, glowing under its own light. Each had a beam of energy pointed at the mutant in front of it, drawing their energy from them. Their heads hung limply on their chests, too weak to hold them upright.

"They're the same energy orbs that they used before," Selene noted.

"Yeah, they are," Michael, now awake, agreed.

Casting her eyes on her lover, Selene asked, "Do you feel okay?"

"Yeah," he answered, tiredly. "I'll be fine." He looked past Selene to the mutants behind her. He noted grimly that their complexions were pale. Most of them seemed to have broken out in cold sweats, hair plastered to their heads. His medical training came to the front of his mind, as he noted that they all seemed to be exhibiting the general symptoms of malaise. That they appeared as sick as they did suggested that the orbs were not only canceling out their abilities.

"Where are we?" A male voice rang out in the darkness. Following the sound, Michael saw a man with blonde hair, and white, feathered wings.

"We're in the vampires' mansion," Selene answered. "Though I cannot be certain, I believe our enemies here have … infected … the rest of the coven." She sighed in resignation. "Unless the lycans are able to follow us, we will be on our own."

"We've been in tighter spots than this," Warren replied weakly. He seemed to regard them for the first time. "You're the two that helped Logan and Jean, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Michael responded. "I'm Michael." He gestured with his eyes. "This is Selene."

"Warren," the winged-mutant said. Looking next to him, he happened to see his neighbor awake. "And this is Hank."

"Salutations," the furred doctor greeted.

"Nice to meet you," Michael replied. As he finished his sentence, the door behind him opened suddenly.

Through the door, stepped the leader of the _nosferatu_, followed by his lieutenants. His subordinates went around the chamber, lighting up the various torches that dotted the walls almost at random. The leader stepped into the middle of the room, next to Michael. Smiling, he took off his hood, revealing his features. "Hello, Selene, Michael," he greeted them. Looking beyond the two, he noticed that several of the X-Men were awake, boring holes with their eyes. "And I see that the freaks are waking, as well."

"Look who's talkin', suckface," Jubilee said, her features twisted into a stubborn scowl.

"For that, my dear," the leader said, "I shall enjoy eviscerating you alive."

"Ooh, I'm, like, so shaking," she replied.

"You should be," he responded, grounding his nails into his palms in frustration. He wasn't accustomed to having anyone, let alone a human girl, speaking to him in such a tone.

Jubilee was about to make another remark, when another voice asked, "What are you planning on doing to us?"

The leader turned to the source, seeing Betsy, her eyes hard with defiance. "Oh, I don't know," he replied sarcastically. "I was thinking about turning one of you, and then having that person attack each of you in turn. And you'd be able to do nothing about it."

"Don't be so sure."

The leader looked at her skeptically, measuring her. "I doubt it," he finally said. "But, to make sure," he added, "I think I shall have to turn you." He eyed her lasciviously, taking in the curve of her bosom. "And then you can be my bride."

"I'd rather die," she replied.

"Oh, you will," he responded with a laugh. "You will." He turned from her, casting his gaze on Selene. "The great and legendary Selene," he remarked with faux deference. "Most dangerous of al female Death Dealers," he continued. "Why Viktor held you in such high regard, I will never know."

"If you let me out of these chains, I will gladly show you," Selene said icily, her eyes luminescent blue.

"Oh, I've no doubt of that at all," he replied, almost jovially. "So I don't think I'll give you that chance." He nodded towards one of the other vampires. She went to one of the walls, and began rotating an old, wooden wheel. Above her, Selene saw that the aperture in the ceiling started to open. The night sky revealed itself, stars blacked out from the pollution in the air.

"Well, Selene," the leader began, "when I return, you'll be nothing more than ash." He began moving towards the door. "So, I think I'll leave you with your thoughts, my dear. Because, you know, just as well as I, knowing you will die is worse than the act." He laughed dryly as he stepped across the threshold. "Goodbye, my dear," he said, as the door closed tightly behind him.

- - - -

**Four Hours Later**

Selene had been trying to wriggle her way out of the ropes that bound her. The knot holding her arms behind her back hadn't given, but the one holding her ankles together had. Yet, despite her attempts to do so, she could not escape. She had not been able to get enough slack in the knot to get it to loosen.

Looking up, she saw the sky had lightened since the last time she'd glanced upward. Though she was inclined to panic, her centuries of training allowed her to tamp down the rising feelings. Still, the thought persisted that even if she could somehow loosen her bindings, she would not be able to do so before the sun shone in the chamber.

Forcing herself to clear her mind, she looked down to her ankles again. Studying them, she thought she saw a way she might be able to get a single leg free. And, though it was only a single limb, it was, nonetheless, an improvement. Without wasting another moment, she began working on the knots again.

It was over half an hour later, when the sun was just coming up, when her leg suddenly popped free of her bindings.

"Selene," Michael exclaimed excitedly. "You got a leg free!" His features sobered as he noticed the color of the sky. She followed his gaze, seeing the slightest sliver of sunlight on the roof. "Are you going to have enough time to free yourself?"

"I … I don't think so," she replied doubtfully. Again, panic threatened to take control of her thoughts. Tamping them down, again, she moved her leg as far as she could in every direction she could. She noticed, with interest, that her foot came almost within biting distance of Michael. A sudden thought occurred to her. "Michael, I'm going to stretch my leg out as far as I can. I want you to bite if you can."

"But," he began concernedly. "You might …."

"I might," she responded. "But, there's still a chance I'll survive. And, if there is even the slightest chance, I'm more than willing to take it."

He hesitated, reluctant to try something that could very well kill her. Finally, he nodded in acquiescence, though he seemed far from happy. "Okay." She stretched her leg out as far as she could, her muscles straining. Michael, transforming into his hybrid form, struggled against the chains. They creaked, and groaned, but still held. The collar dug into his throat, threatening to cut off his air. But, yet, he still tried. He flexed his neck muscles, the tendons in his neck standing out.

"I can't," Michael rasped, changing back into his human form. He rubbed his throat, unconsciousness threatening to overtake him. But, frustration was what he felt: he'd been within a centimeter of actually being able to bite her.

"Michael," Selene said calmly, her eyes reflecting the love she felt for him. "You are stronger than you think; I know you can." She glanced upward again, a little more sunlight shining into the room. "Please … try again."

He gritted his teeth, nodding at the same time. He transformed again, his skin becoming the odd blue-gray color. He charged forward with all his strength, tensing his muscles against the chains that cut into his body. He bared his teeth, and somehow, miraculously, his open mouth found her flesh. He bit down, heedless of the strength of his jaws. He felt his teeth bite not only into leather and flesh, but bone as well. A bone shattered with the strength of his bite, a breath escaping her lips as the pain flared up her leg.

As Michael released his hold, and fell back to his knees, he saw he'd bit her higher than her foot. He saw an ugly bite mark, and blood streaming down, from halfway up her shin. But, the wound began to heal even as he watched, the skin beginning to heal up. In the background of his mind, his medical training was taking note of the fact that even vampire/werewolf healing speeds could not match that of Logan and Jean.

Selene bared her teeth, her eyes an iridescent blue. She looked up to the sky, pain flowing through her veins. She closed her eyes, biting back the pain. The sound of eerie howling filled her head, the image of a full moon on the inside of her eyelids. The howling threatened to drive her insane, the sound ringing in her ears over and over, consuming her every thought. And, when it seemed as if she couldn't handle anymore, she passed into a blissfully silent unconsciousness.

- - - -

When Selene finally regained consciousness, she looked up into the sky, and was shocked by what she saw.

The pale blue of the daylight sky smiled down on her, the edge of the sun casting its light into the room. She cowered from the sight almost instinctively, nearly six hundred years of nocturnal living having been ingrained into her. But, when she realized she didn't feel her skin burning, she looked again up at the sky. She smiled, filled with wondrous surprise, seeing the day star once again.

"Selene," Michael called, concernedly. She snapped out of her reverie, catching his worried look.

"It's been so long, Michael," she answered. "I almost forgot what the sun looked like," she continued. She closed her eyes momentarily, allowing the heat of the day to warm her face. "But, I suppose I'll have more than enough time to appreciate it," she said, opening her eyes. She looked down, and concentrated on her bindings. She played with the wrist bindings, trying to free her arms.

After several minutes, she sighed, frustrated. "I can't free them," she said to Michael.

"Selene," he replied, wondrously, "your eyes."

"What about them," she asked, her interest piqued.

"They're completely black," he answered. "You're a hybrid." He smiled widely, looking up at her. "Try again, only this time, let go of your emotions. It's how you transform."

She nodded. Going back to trying to free her wrists, she concentrated on the ropes. After several minutes, she was again frustrated. Instead of keeping her concentration on the ropes, she concentrated on the frustration she felt. Suddenly, in the back of her mind, she heard the flapping of massive wings, combined with the howling of wolves she'd heard earlier. Together, they formed a cacophony that threatened her sanity, more so than just the howling.

As the two sounds became one, she could feel bones breaking and realigning. Sinew and muscle snapped, and reattached, growing thicker, and stronger. Teeth grew in, biting pain spreading through her mouth like root canals. Somehow, through the pain that wracked her body, she had the presence of mind to tug at the ropes binding her wrists. They broke free, unable to stand against the supernatural strength of a vampire – werewolf hybrid.

She fell on her hands, the sharp nails digging into the cement beneath her. Her left leg was still bound to the pole. With Herculean strength, she pulled her leg from the rope, snapping it with a terrific sound. She stood to her full height, and closed her eyes, forcing the transformation back to her human guise. After feeling her body shift back, she opened her eyes, and looked down.

Her skintight battle gear had ripped in several places. Pale flesh showed itself just below her rib cage, stretching down to her upper abdomen. Long tears were on both of her arms, near her shoulders. And tears ran down her thighs, as well, almost as if runs in stockings.

She looked up at Michael, coming out of her reverie. "I have to free the others first," she explained. "If you didn't have the strength to break the chains, I doubt I will." He nodded in acquiescence. She turned first towards the X-Men, eyeing the purple orbs. They'd been glass last time; she just hoped they'd be glass this time.

She grabbed the first one, dropping on the floor. She smiled momentarily, seeing what was left of the glass ball sparkled on the floor. She noticed that the man that it had been holding, opened his eyes. She tried not to stare at his visage, though she was used to seeing odd things. But, she had to admit, even to herself, seeing a man with velvet-like fur, iris-less yellow eyes, and a tail was not exactly an everyday occurrence.

"_Danke_," Kurt said kindly. She nodded slightly, even as he felt his strength returning. When he was sure he wouldn't pass out from teleporting, he disappeared in a cloud of smoke. He reappeared near Selene, catching her off guard. "Pardon me," he said politely, as she stepped out of a defensive stance. "But, I thought you might need a little help?"

"Start at the other end," she replied, pointing to the far end of the block.

"Will do," he answered, teleporting to the far cell.

"I'll start helping, too," Kitty suddenly spoke up, walking through her bindings.

"Do you think any of you could get Michael out of his chains," Selene asked, gesturing to her lover.

"I can do that," the X-Woman replied. She walked to Michael, examining his bindings. "You may want to hold your breath," she told him.

"What're you going to do," he asked.

"I'm going to phase you," she replied. At his look of askance, she continued, "I'm going to make you intangible. But, you'll want to hold your breath while we get these cuffs off." He nodded in understanding. "Ready?" He nodded his affirmative, and before he knew what had happened, he was standing next to her, fully tangible.

"That … was a new experience," he said. His brow dipped as he tried to think of a logical way to explain her ability to become intangible. They both looked behind them to see that the rest of the X-Men had been freed. Logan and Piotr had already started freeing the several werewolves.

"Jean," Jake began, "close that skylight? We don't want our vampire allies spontaneously combusting." He gestured towards the cell holding the Death Dealers, the glass behind the bars having darkened in response to the sunlight.

Several minutes later, everyone was gathered in the center of the room, readying themselves for the battle they knew was coming. "Where exactly are we," Betsy asked.

"We're in the Execution Chamber, behind the mansion. It's made to look like a large maintenance shed," a male vampire answered. He pointed to the door from where their captors had entered. "Outside that door, there are, in fact, lawn care supplies, as well as a large riding mower. To the right is a tunnel that leads into the mansion."

"And you are," Betsy asked.

"Delacroix," he answered. "Richard Delacroix. I'm the former head of the Death Dealers here."

"Former," Selene asked, surprised.

"Yes," Andrew answered. "Considering these events, I've decided to provide sanctuary to Delacroix and his men in my den for as long as is needed."

"And you are just gong to trust them like that," Michael asked suspiciously.

"Yes," Andrew replied, retaining his calm. "Because I am tired of war. That my brother could love a vampire proved we could coexist as equals." He looked up at Michael and Selene. "That the two of you, one a hybrid, the other a hardened Death Dealer, can love each other gives me hope that peace is still viable."

"You are Lucien's brother," Michael asked, rhetorically. He fingered the amulet around his neck. Taking it off, he offered it to Andrew. "Then, this belongs to you."

"No," the werewolf answered. "It was originally Sonja's pendant. Lucien took it form her corpse when he escaped from Viktor." He closed Michael's hand around the pendant. "It belongs in the hands of one who would risk everything for love."

"Ever get the feeling you missed a really, really long story," Bobby whispered to Jubilee.

"Okay," Jake said, realizing exactly what his teammates were talking about. "Does anyone have any idea who we're dealing with here?"

"His name is Vincente Manetti," Delacroix answered. He turned towards Selene. "The last time you met Viktor before you killed him, he killed a lycan scientist above Markus' crypt."

Selene's brow dipped as tried to understand what he was trying to tell her. "He is a descendant of Alexander Corvinus … so he's a…." Her eyes widened in understanding.

"Yes," Delacroix. "When Markus awoke from his slumber, he was no longer vampire, but a hybrid. When the coven learned of this, there was an attempted coup." He smiled, looking at Michael. "I doubt that I even have to tell you what the outcome of that was."

"Markus won," the hybrid answered.

"Yes," Delacroix answered. "He killed his usurpers. Afterwards, he gathered to him those who had remained on his side during the short skirmish. And, he turned them all into hybrids. Manetti was one of them."

"But, how does that tie into the fact that these … things we're fighting are so powerful," Jean asked.

Marty stepped forward. "I believe I can answer that." They all turned their attention towards him. "At one time, Vincente Manetti was the apprentice and lover of a sorceress who lived over four hundred years ago. She was known simply as Dagmara, and her name was spoken with reverence across all of eastern Europe.

"Dagmara came from a long line of very powerful sorceresses. For as long as her family could remember, they had passed along a pair of books, mother to daughter, for safe keeping. They were kept in an ancient oak chest, and wrapped in silk supposedly woven by the Fates themselves. Though they had no name, these books were known to be crafted from black magic, and were thought to be able to bring the greatest evil to our plane. It was also said that any mortal who touched these books, and lacked the ability to fight their inner demons, would slowly die as from poison. And, once they did die, their spirits would be condemned to the darkest depths of Hell, where their souls would suffer their worst fear tenfold for all eternity."

"That does not sound pleasant," Kurt said, thinking aloud.

"No," Marty replied. "It does not seem pleasant at all." He looked down momentarily, getting his thoughts back on track. "We are not entirely certain what exactly happened, however, Vincente and Dagmara had a falling out. Somehow, he managed to kill her; whether purposefully or accidentally is unknown. What is known, however, is that once she was dead, he was only able to get his hands on one of the books.

"It wasn't until it was too late that he remembered what happened to those mortals unworthy of holding these tomes. Once he remembered this, he began searching for any manner of lengthening his life. It was then that chance allowed him to meet Viktor."

"He knew Viktor," Selene asked, surprised.

"Yes," Marty replied. "At the time, Viktor did not have a mage, and it had occurred to him that it would be much simpler to kill large amounts of werewolves with magic than the technology at the time." He looked around at the gathered people. "So, Viktor agreed to turn him under one condition: that Vincente never touch or open that dark book again. Even Viktor, in his relative ignorance of magic, knew they were evil."

"So how did we end up fighting him," Jean asked.

"A few months ago," Delacroix answered, "a message was sent out to all covens from Budapest." He paused, trying to remember what exactly it said. "I can't recall the exact wording. But, it basically said that Manetti had suddenly vanished from Budapest, and had taken the book. It said that anyone that encounters him should take him out with extreme prejudice." He looked to his side, where Mia stood, knowing what was coming next. "When we spotted him, we tried to kill him; but we hadn't yet known he was so much more powerful."

"What happened," Selene asked.

"He single-handedly decimated our Death Dealers," Delacroix replied. "He turned them into the … vampires that they are. Though we are uncertain how exactly, we believe it had to do with the book he has." He turned towards Selene and Michael. "When you two arrived in the city, we had only just received word from Budapest that we should be on alert for you two. When we arrived in the alley, we had been reinforced by the Death Dealers that had been following you." He smiled wryly. "I don't think you'll have to worry too much about them anymore."

"You keep on speaking about only one book," Celeste suddenly said, addressing Marty. "What happened to the other?"

"For the longest time," he answered, "it was lost to history." He stopped, wondering exactly how much he should say. "Somehow, though, it made its way to the New World. We only know this because not long ago, a woman from Texas found it in her dead daughter's possessions. At the moment, we are in the process of obtaining that book, in addition to a Grand Vicar."

"Grand Vicar," Logan asked.

"The Grand Vicar is the leader of the Order of the Elements," Zhu suddenly answered. "The previous one died earlier this year."

"Okay," Jake said loudly, hoping to get the conversation back on track. "How can we stop these things?"

"A wooden stake through the heart, severing their heads from their bodies," Marty answered. "Also, any religious symbol wielded by a true believer can work." He turned to Jake and Betsy. "The two of you have weapons that will kill the vampires with any fatal blow."

"Logan and Jean also have claws made of the same metal," Zhu told Marty.

"Really," he pondered. "Then it would stand to reason any of you that either have metallic body parts, or are able to generate metal on your bodies are going to have this same metal."

"Though I am inclined to doubt the logic which you used to come to your conclusion," Hank said, looking at Marty, "I must concur based on the examinations I have performed after the magical storm."

"So, now that we have the preliminaries out of the way," Celeste began, "what are we going to do?"

"We need to find this book," Marty said. "Whatever Manetti is planning to do with it, we cannot allow it to proceed. I can assure you anything that is called forth from this book will be … most unwanted."

"Okay, what about him, and his followers," Jake asked.

"They are soulless husks," Marty continued. "To kill them would grant their eternal spirits peace. I believe it is only humane to do so."

"And if we're unable to find the book," Logan asked.

"If that happens," Marty replied, "we may have no other choice but to burn down the mansion."

"Okay," Jake said, a final tone in his voice. "We'll split up into two teams, and search the mansion from top to bottom. Any of these vampires we meet along the way, we'll just have to take out."

"There's a problem with that plan," Delacroix spoke up.

"What's that?"

"In the basement is an entrance to the sewers in the case of a raid," the Death Dealer supplied. "It's common procedure for all vampire covens to have an emergency sewer exit. If one of the _nosferatu_ happens to have the book, and is able to escape, then everything that we would have done here would have been for naught."

"Good point," Jake replied.

"Then, we'll have to send some people to guard that sewer entrance," Betsy said. She turned to Delacroix. "You and your people go and guard that entrance." She turned to Logan. "Logan, you're going to take Jubilee, Iceman, and Bishop, and go with them." Her gaze fell on the leader of the Death Dealers once again. _If you even think about trying to get out of this, remember this. Your entire squad couldn't handle two of our people. And, one of the four I'm sending with you is an omega mutant, meaning that person can do almost whatever he or she wants, and you can do nothing to stop him or her._

Delacroix looked at her, surprised not only by her voice in his head, but also what she knew about what had happened the night beforehand. "How did you…?"

"Telepath," she replied, pointing to her temple.

Jake looked to the rest of the people with them. "The rest of us are going to split up, and scour the mansion for the book." Just as he finished his sentence, the door behind him crashed open, two vampires running through the door.

"Get your hands in the air, all of you," one of them yelled. They both carried large, malicious looking guns that gleamed in the torchlight. They were trained on Hank and Warren, who had been closest to the door. "Hands in the air, or we'll fill these two full of lead!"

For the moment, not seeing anything better to do, the group raised their collective hands. But, unseen on the other side of the group, Shadowcat quickly and quietly disappeared into the floor. She'd said only two words to Wolverine, who'd been standing next to her: "Be ready."

"It might be a good idea for you to look behind you," Archangel suggested.

"How stupid do you think we are," the second vampire asked sarcastically. "We're not going to fall for that trick."

"Actually, it's not a trick," Shadowcat's voice suddenly called from behind them. They half turned, to get a look at the woman behind them, and that was all it took. Their weapons were yanked out of their hands with a sudden, invisible, terrific force, nearly ripping off their hands. In that moment, her hands grabbed onto the back of their collars, and pulled them forcefully into the ground.

"Not bad, pun'kin," Wolverine complemented her, eyeing her handiwork. They were upside down in the floor, completely vertical. From their waists down, their bodies were exposed to the air.

"Thanks," she replied.

"How much do you wanna bet they radioed that something was wrong," Lobo asked, looking at the two vampires critically.

"Good point," Warlock responded. "We need to get on the move on." He turned to Wolverine. "Take your team; have one of the vampires lead you to the sewer exit. Be ready, 'cause once we start fighting, they're going to start coming down in droves. Be on the lookout for the book."

"We need two vampires," Psylocke said, "to help us find our way through the mansion; one for each team."

"I'll go," Mia volunteered, stepping forward.

"Anyone else," the purple-haired mutant asked expectantly.

"I suppose I'll help you as well," a male Death Dealer said, also stepping forward. He looked to be barely in his mid-twenties, with blonde hair, and trimmed sideburns.

"Good," Psylocke replied. "You'll come with the rest of us."

- - - -

**Later**

"Would you happen to know what this book looks like," Warlock asked.

"It is ancient," Zhu answered, walking next to him. "I'm not entirely certain about the design on the cover, but I know that it'll be made of bone."

"Bone," Beast asked. Currently, they were on the third floor of the mansion, in awe of the massive collection in the library. Floor to ceiling, the room took up half the floor. They had found books that detailed the history of vampires, and a number of first editions. The blue-furred scholar had argued, quite convincingly, that it would be a crime to burn these books. And despite the fact that they were likely to have a horde of _nosferatu_ on their back at any time, and that they technically did not have a whole lot of time, Warlock was unable to deny that he was right.

At the moment, they were teleporting books down to the basement, to Wolverine's position. After that, they still weren't quite sure what to do with them.

"Yes," the girl replied. "Human bone, dyed black. It is said that the most powerful of black magic needs to be based on suffering, and the worst of humanity." She peered at them knowingly. "What better way than to use that of innocents killed at the hands of marauders and warlords in the service of evil?"

"That makes sense," Archangel said, sifting through a pile of books. "Anything else?"

"The pages will be made of dried, slightly reinforced human skin."

"Nice," Warlock said, with sarcastic disgust.

"The books had perhaps the most powerful accumulation of black magic on the mortal plane," Zhu continued.

"What kinds of spells…," Warlock began, only to stop in mid-sentence, his gaze becoming blank. A moment later, his eyes refocused, a grim light coming into them. "I just heard from Phoenix on the other end of the floor. We've got trouble."

- - - -

"What can you tell me about them?"

Marty looked to Andrew, pausing in his rummaging of Manetti's effects. "Never underestimate them," Marty replied.

"What's that supposed to mean," the werewolf leader asked, tearing into the elegant, king-sized bed. White cotton erupted into the air as his partially transformed claws rent the material.

"They've been in situations that would make most people, mortal and immortal alike, cower in fear."

"What are you talking about," Andrew asked, as he finished shredding the bed. Though he loathed to admit it, he didn't think they'd be finding the book anytime soon. Manetti would undoubtedly have thought of a way to hide his treasure from anyone wanting to find it, or for that matter, destroy it.

"They've saved the world more than once," the scientist replied. "They've fought ancient warlords, genocidal megalomaniacs, aliens, demons, and other things that you've probably never thought existed." He looked up, a wry smile on his face. "And if you don't believe me," he continued knowingly, "you could always ask Uatu."

"What's an 'Uatu'," Andrew asked, his brow furrowed.

"Never mind," Marty replied, laughing to himself. After several more moments, he spoke again. "I don't think we're going to find what we're looking for."

Andrew opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted when something flew through the wall from the hallway. Plaster, wood, and wires went flying as a body landed in the room next the opposite wall. The man's head was bent at an awkward angle, blood pouring from a dozen wounds. But, even as the two of them were looking at the body, someone came in through the hole in the wall.

"A little help," Shift asked, surprising Marty and Andrew. She gestured to the man that was on the floor just as his eyes opened again. Marty jolted to his feet, his tattoo glowing angrily. A stream of fire erupted from his hands, encompassing the vampire, turning it to ash. "Thanks," she said, sarcasm creeping into her voice.

"Behind you," Andrew suddenly shouted.

Shift half-turned only to see a vampire with her mouth wide open, about to put her fangs into her colloidal flesh. But, before the fangs could bite her, an impressively muscled arm covered entirely in grey fur covered her entire field of vision. Lobo growled in pain as the vampire's teeth sank into his flesh.

Bearing his teeth, the lycanthropic mutant grabbed the female vampire by the back of the head and tossed her into the room. Her body created a new hole, passing through Shift's body in the process. The vampire shook her head to clear it, plaster billowing out from her body as she did so. She looked above her head, from where she'd just come from, only to see Lobo jump through the same hole. As he landed, he roared triumphantly, his bared teeth appearing almost as a grin. The vampire had enough time to register fear as the massive mutant's claws ripped into her face, tearing off the front of her skull with a single blow.

"My …," Andrew began, the rest of his sentence unable to leave his mouth. He turned towards Marty. "Who is he?"

"He's … he's the Wolf-King."

"What!" Andrew's eyes widened in surprise, seemingly taking in Lobo for the first time. "But how?" Lobo jumped out of the room, hunting for another opponent.

Before Marty could answer, Shift interjected. "That's the second time I've heard that. What does it mean?"

The two men looked to each other, and seemingly shrugged. "There's an ancient prophecy," Marty said, "that speaks of the coming of the ruler of all werewolves."

"It is said that he would be great amongst both humans and lycans," Andrew continued.

"Yes," Marty concurred. "The prophecy declared that this Wolf-King, as he was referred to, would be immune to silver, and would be stronger than any other werewolf before him. But, it also said that he would not take his throne, if you will, until after werewolves and vampires were know to the general public. The prophecy also spoke of the 'fall and rise of the bright cities', though no one is really sure what that means."

Suddenly, through the hole that the second vampire had made, Psylocke stepped through. "We've got a problem."

- - - -

Jean Grey, the Phoenix, ducked as a vampire's long knife swiped through the air where her neck had been moments before. She reached out with her mind, burying the blade in the ceiling up to the hilt, bending it at a right angle in the process. She turned to the vampire, the familiar pain in her knuckles briefly flaring, and swiped him in half. He exploded into ash even as she moved on to the next vampire.

Beside her, Seraph was making short work of the vampire's she was fighting. Short bursts of blue energy erupted from her mouth, sniping the undead as they surged forward her. Two more came forward, one of them firing a machine gun at her chest. The bullets stopped dead as they hit her skin, unable to penetrate the Kevlar-like organ. But, that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

She bared her teeth, blue energy bleeding form her mouth. She swiped the gun from the lead vampire's grasp, and with a singular movement, broke the weapon in half. The undead warriors, though momentarily surprised, moved forward, lashing out with a dizzying flurry of punches and kicks. Seraph, much to Phoenix's surprise, kept up with each and every movement, blocking it before it reached her body. Suddenly, in a blur of movement, Seraph broke the first's right arm, and the second's left leg.

The second vampire fell to the ground in agony, the first one looking to his arm in surprise. Before the first vampire could do anything, he was lifted off his feet, a strong hand around his throat. "I don't much like vampires," Seraph said, her face in his. Her grip became stronger, and the vampire suddenly cried out in strangled pain. Beneath Seraph's bare hand, his throat seemed to be smoking furiously, as if her skin was a noxious acid on his.

She realized as she looked at the smoke rising from beneath her hand that somehow her skin was eating through his. She gripped harder, her hand seemingly slipping through his neck as nothing more than rice paper. She took a sudden step back, her face a mask of surprise, as his head fell to the ground. The wound where his neck had been was a smoldering, carbonized hole. As she watched, both his body and head began to melt away as nothing more than ash in the wind.

"What did you do," Phoenix asked, just as surprised as her teammate.

"I don't know," Seraph answered truthfully.

"Do you think the two of you could get your heads back on track," Emma Frost asked, as her diamond form was thrown into a wall. She drew back a fist, and hit the vampire attacking her in the temple. He had run out of ammo earlier, and after seeing several blades break on her diamond hard hide, had decided to attack her hand-to-hand. It wasn't exactly the best of ideas.

The former White Queen threw another punch, an uppercut that caught him in the chin. Before he could recover, she planted a well-placed kick to his groin, his pale skin seemingly growing paler in the intense pain. A diamond studded head-butt finished him off, as he dropped to the floor as nothing more than a sack of potatoes. Suddenly, a heavy hand fell on her shoulder turning her around.

Another vampire stood before her, a cocky grin on his face, as he raised a knife to drive into her heart. Before he could, though, a flash of metal appeared to travel from his left shoulder to his lower right abdomen. The cocky grin had been replaced by a look of utter surprise, just as he exploded into a burst of ash. As the ash cleared, she could see Warlock standing, with the young girl at his side.

"You're welcome," he said, evenly.

"For what," she asked, her diamond form hiding her emotions.

"That knife was made of adamantium," he explained.

"And how do you know that?"

"Before I cut him in half, I tried to break the knife," he explained. "As you can tell, it didn't work."

"Break the knife," Emma asked.

"Its metal, therefore it is a part of the earth, therefore, I can control it," Warlock said. His gaze caught the vampire who seemed to be melting away. "What happened to him?"

"I killed him," Seraph explained, still seemingly wondering what had happened.

"Too bad she isn't Full Blood," Zhu muttered, though only Phoenix heard her. "She could have killed them with a single touch." The other woman looked at her momentarily, wondering what the girl meant.

Before she could ask the girl anything, she suddenly grasped her head, crying out in pain – or anger. Her teeth gritted against each other, her eyes blank, staring directly ahead of her.

Reaching out with his mind, Warlock tried to touch hers, to find out what had happened to her. But, the moment he did, he pulled back, his hand grasped on his temple. "Fuck," he screamed through gritted teeth. He stumbled back, barely keeping his footing, falling against the wall behind. He put his head between his knees, his hands on his knees, breathing in deeply. "Goddamn," he swore again, taking in one more deep breath.

"What happened," Seraph asked, her eyes filled with concern.

"Logan's pissed off," he answered. "He's on the verge of going berserker." He closed his eyes tightly, sighing. He gestured to Phoenix, who was only now seemingly regaining her senses. "She was seeing what he was seeing, almost through his eyes. Somehow, he reached out to her mind as he became angrier. When I looked into her mind, I, too, could feel that anger. And, he was attacked by one of the vampires; it tore a chunk of flesh off of his forearm." He didn't have to add that they both felt that as well. "Fuck," he added, "I don't know how he can live with that kind of anger; it …. I have that much more respect for the guy."

"But, what actually happened?"

"Something about Jubilee," Warlock answered. He turned to Phoenix. "Do you know?"

She nodded, standing, tamping down the anger that her husband's had awoken in her gut. "Jubilee was kidnapped by Manetti. He went after them. Beyond that, I've no idea."

He nodded, and was about to contact Bishop, when his lover's voice spoke up in his mind. _Jubilee's been kidnapped_, Psylocke told him.

_What happened_, he asked.

_They were surprised_, she answered. _Manetti and five of his followers descended into the basement to escape into the sewer. They were able to kill two of them. The others were able to escape with Jubilee._ She paused momentarily, her mind sending out waves of anxiety. He knew something else was up. _But, in the process the vampires were all bitten. They're already turning._

_Bishop and Iceman?_

_Bishop's okay. But Bobby apparently was almost cut in half. He's healing himself as we speak, but they need backup._

_Okay,_ Warlock said, thinking. _I'll send two people down right away, with a guide._

_I'll have Colossus join them,_ Psylocke replied. She hoped the two he was sending would be able to get along.

Warlock turned to the part of his team with him. "Phoenix," he said, turning to the redhead. "I'm gonna have you go down to the basement after Wolverine and Jubilee. Take Mia with you.

"Emma?" The blonde telepath turned toward him, seemingly already knowing what he was going to say.

"I am not going to go with that…."

Her sentence was interrupted as his voice suddenly appeared in her mind. _Don't you think you're a little old to be using such … names? Besides, don't you remember your dream?_

She looked up, realization dawning on her face. Realization was replaced with confusion, though. "How…," she began. He had been able to enter her mind, despite her being in her diamond form.

"Isn't magic a pain in the ass," he asked, a gleam in his eye. As the two of them left, he turned to the others. "We don't have much time. I just spoke to Cyke, Rogue, Gambit, and Cable. They're going to join up with Michael and Selene, and meet us here."

"What're we going to do," Seraph asked.

"We can't find the book," he answered. "And we can't allow it to fall into the wrong hands. There's only one other option."

- - - -

"She couldn't spare anyone else," Phoenix asked.

"_Nyet_," Colossus answered. "We were knee deep in them," he continued. "I was even reluctant to go."

"What prompted you?"

"Katya phasing a wooden stake into one of their chests."

"Oh," she answered. The four of them, herself, Colossus, Mia, and Emma, were in the stairwell, and had just now passed below the first floor. She held a finger to her lips, gesturing them to be quiet. She sniffed ahead of her, a number of smells assaulting her sensitive nose. The scent of the _nosferatu_ invaded her nostrils, rotten meat and old dust, mixed with her husband's adrenaline. And, just then, she heard a familiar sound: a burst of intense energy, fired from a certain time-tossed individual. The sudden growl echoed out from the basement, and the sound of fighting. They heard another blast from Bishop, and then a blast of ice flew out of the door, hitting the wall opposite it.

She reached out with her mind, feeling the minds of the two X-Men below her. "They need help," she said earnestly. She ran down the rest of the steps, throwing caution to the wind.

As they reached the basement, they were surprised by what they saw. Over half a dozen _nosferatu_ were fighting Iceman and Bishop. Back to back, they were surrounded, unable to get out of the circle they were in. Looking down, the four newcomers noticed pieces of ice on the floor beginning to melt. For a moment, they were at a loss for why red-pink water was leaking from the ice. But, looking at the chunks again, they were able to see that it had been a vampire flash-frozen, and then blown to pieces.

"Are we glad you're here," the Iceman exclaimed. Two of the vampires turned, catching sight of the heroes behind them.

"Always glad to be of service," Colossus answered, grinning. The vampires charged, one for him, the other for Phoenix. The metal-skinned mutant caught the vampire attacking him in the throat, and with the effort to of an elephant lifting a feather, picked him up. "That was not a good idea," he advised sarcastically. He threw the unholy creature through the circle surrounding Iceman and Bishop, dragging two others with him. The three of them landed on the opposite wall with a wet thump. The force was so great, that despite being dead, their bodies remained on the wall as if nothing more than large insects. "Oops," the big man said, with false regret.

Phoenix, on the other hand, made quicker work of her opponent. As it leapt towards her, she held it in place with her mind. Then, unleashing her claws, she backhanded it across the midsection, its body erupting into ash almost immediately. She turned to the rest, and in her most matronly voice, said, "Unless the rest of you can do better than that, you stand no chance."

Using the momentary distraction, the two trapped in the circle lashed out. Bishop unleashed a powerful burst of energy, catching two of the vampires in the head. As the energy burst cleared, they could see two large splotches of blood behind where the heads used to be.

Even as the large man had taken out the other two vampires, Iceman had been busy against his own opponents. They moved forward, just as a massive burst of ice hit them, not only freezing them to the ground, but instantly freezing them solid. He turned towards his Russian teammate. "A little help?"

"Of course," Colossus replied. He spread his arms wide, and, moving forward, brought his massive hands together with a thunderous clap. As his hands moved through the hardened ice, the frozen bodies spontaneously combusted, carbonizing almost instantly.

"Well, that was unexpected," Emma voiced, looking down at the odd mix of ice and ash.

"What … what happened," Colossus asked, looking at Phoenix for an answer.

"Remember after the storm hit, Hank found out your metal was the same as mine and Logan's," she answered.

"Oh," he replied, his remembering.

"We can't stay long and reminisce," Phoenix said. She turned towards Bishop and Iceman. "What happened?"

"We were surprised," Bishop answered. "They came around the bend into the basement, like a blitz. We fought them off as well as we could, but somehow, the Death Dealers that were guarding the sewer with us were all turned."

"The one that you killed," Mia said, nodding toward Phoenix, "was Delacroix." She looked to the ground, saddened at knowing that the entire Los Angeles coven had been reduced to two vampires.

"After that," the red-headed telepath prompted, placing a comforting hand on Mia's shoulder.

"They overwhelmed us," the bald man answered. "In the confusion, Jubilee was kidnapped. Wolverine was bit; the vampire that bit him died … slowly." He pointed to a spot of ash on the floor. "He was on the verge of going berserker; he followed after them without even realizing we were still here. It wasn't until after he left, though, that the Death Dealers turned."

"Which way did they go," Phoenix asked. Both Iceman and Bishop pointed down a passage that sloped down towards the sewers. "Let's go after them, then."

- - - -

Led by Phoenix, the five X-Men and Mia made their way as quickly and quietly through the sewers as they could. She'd picked up Wolverine's smell almost immediately, along with the slightly older scent of Jubilee and her three captors. Even in his smell, she'd been able to detect his anger; the smell of adrenaline was almost overpowering, threatening to send her senses spinning.

"Jubilee's not scared," she said aloud, parsing the scents.

"Of course not," Emma said, close behind the other woman. "I trained my students better than that."

"I don't think that's it," Iceman commented. "I think, more than likely, she knows that at least one person is coming after her." He looked around at his comrades. "And that there'd be others coming after her, too." The blonde telepath stared him down, not enjoying being corrected. "What," he asked innocently. "It's true."

Emma was about to retort, when Phoenix held her index finger to her lips. "We're close," she whispered, pointing down a hallway to their right. And, suddenly, they heard what she had assuredly already heard. A feral roar echoed towards them, anger and pain laced together. They all recognized the sound.

"How far," Colossus asked.

"I don't know," the red-headed telepath answered. "But, I think we should switch to strictly telepathy from here on out." The other nodded in acquiescence. _Good_, she spoke telepathically. _Let's go that way. But, be quiet; don't make any more noise than necessary._

The six of them crept forward, hugging the left wall. As they continued, the sound of fighting met their ears, snarls and roars they recognized at Wolverine's mixed in with that of two other things. The light in the tunnel increased, much to the annoyance of Phoenix. This depended more on stealth than anything else, she knew. If they couldn't surprise this Manetti, she didn't know if they'd be able to rescue Jubilee.

They rounded a gentle corner, coming into a narrow hallway that looked in on a concrete pit. The wall looking in on the pit had a large, human-sized hole through it through which they could see what was happening.

Wolverine was fighting against two of the _nosferatu_. The only problem, though, was that they didn't look like vampires. Instead, they had the blue-grey skin of Michael, and large chiropteran wings. The feral mutant attacked one of them, only to have it move with supernatural speed to his flank. Wolverine lashed out at the _nosferatu_-hybrid, managing to clip it only slightly. Turning, Wolverine came face to face with its claws, momentarily blinding him.

_We need to help him_, Phoenix said telepathically, moving to help her husband.

But, before she did, Emma's hand fell on her shoulder. _Look over there, across the way._ The blonde telepath pointed across the pit. On the other side was Manetti, looking on. A smile was etched across his face, eyes gleaming in malevolent joy at seeing Wolverine being disabled. His right arm hung loosely at his side, his left holding the young Jubilee tightly to his chest. His hand was clasped on to her chin, forcing her to watch the fight below.

Phoenix turned to her comrades. _Bishop, Iceman, Mia, you go help Wolverine._ She turned to the rest of her small team. _The rest of us are going to work on getting Jubilee._

- - - -

As Wolverine moved to skewer one of the … things to a wall, it moved, again with the supernatural speed, out of the way. In his anger, he'd totally forgotten about the telekinesis and telepathy he'd gained. He was focused on killing the things with his claws. So focused was he, that when a blast of cold rushed past him, he was almost surprised.

Iceman had fired a burst of ice, narrowly missing his teammate, aimed at one of the _nosferatu_-hybrids. Wolverine didn't turn, already knowing who was behind him, and that he had his back. Instead, he focused his attention forward. He smiled; the smile of a predator who knows he has his prey cornered. The ice-blast had frozen one of the creature's legs to the ground. He walked forward, head between his shoulders, claws extended, like a giant, ultra-deadly cougar. A single swipe of his claws finished off the vampire-werewolf hybrid, cutting from its right shoulder to left abdomen.

The other _nosferatu_-hybrid paused, shock covering its face at seeing its comrade having been slain. It took a step back as the four combatants stood facing it.

"Wolverine," Bishop said. "Go help with Jubilee." The big man's gaze bore on the unholy creature before him. "We've got this." The other man didn't so much as speak as growl, running in the direction of Jubilee.

- - - -

Despite the fact that Phoenix, Emma, and Colossus had set out to get to Jubilee first, it was Wolverine who reached Manetti first. "Giver 'er back, bub," he growled.

"You're going to have to make me," the sorcerer said haughtily.

"We might be able to help you with that," Phoenix said, coming out of the shadows behind Wolverine, Emma and Colossus behind her.

"I don't think so," Manetti replied. He murmured something in an intelligible language, directing his right hand at the X-Woman. A dark green energy burst from his hand, flying towards her with untold speed. As the light hit Phoenix in the chest, it forced her back into the wall behind her. As her back hit, the light solidified into a black, tar-like substance; strands of it covering her arms and chest, pinning her down.

"What is this?" She looked disgustedly at her hands, moving her arms out from the wall. But, with every movement, the substance tightened its hold. After a moment of struggling, she found she could no longer even budge the slightest bit. Concentrating, she created a TK bubble between her and the substance. Pushing with her mind, she was able to make a large enough bubble to move. But, the tar began tightening its hold again, much as a massive snake. Gritting her teeth, the X-Woman stretched herself to her limits, using everything she had short of the Phoenix itself.

But, the magical tar was too much for her telekinesis. It suddenly snapped back to her chest like a giant rubber-band. She screamed, the tar not only hurting her body, but her mind as well. A migraine headache flared between her temples, momentarily distracting her from the pain in her chest. The tar was so tight that had it not been for the metal covering her skeleton, she would have been mush by now. Blood flowed from where the tar had snapped back, a crimson stain covering the front of her body.

Emma and Colossus turned to help, but were surrounded by the same dark green energy. Circling them, the energy coalesced into half a dozen warriors, dressed in Roman armor, carrying gladiatorial weapons.

"Well," Manetti said, turning to Wolverine. "It seems as if it is only the three of us now." The other man, in response, launched himself at Manetti. But, the sorcerer was ready, a blast of energy sending the feral mutant tumbling. "You will really need to try better than that if you wish to defeat me."

"Ain't ya heard, bub?" The gruff Canadian stood in a battle-ready stance, his eyes tense, and anger filled. "I'm the best at what I do." He reached out a hand, a blast of TK threatening to punch the sorcerer backward. But, the immortal was ready, murmuring something in the intelligible language once again. A continuous blast of energy met the TK field halfway between them, engaging a battle of wills.

Wolverine gritted his teeth, the strength behind Manetti's magic more powerful than he'd thought. He could feel a headache forming in the front of his head, his healing factor working as hard as it could to cure it. But, for some reason, the headache wasn't easing; in fact it was getting worse, much worse. A migraine began spreading through his mind, slowly becoming something that was far worse than any headache. He shook his head, hoping to clear it, realizing only now that the sorcerer was somehow giving him a headache, slowly breaking his concentration. Suddenly, his TK field collapsed, the sorcerer's energies enclosing him, throwing him against a wall.

"Apparently, you are not all that great, my friend," Manetti said, his eyes blazing.

"He can't do this alone," Emma said to Colossus, referring to Wolverine. "We need to do something."

"What about Jean," the big mutant asked, blocking a sword blow.

"I'll be fine," the red-head said through gritted teeth.

"What are you planning," Colossus asked Emma.

"Will you be able to fight these things alone," she asked. Even as she did so, he delivered a sudden, powerful blow to one of the warriors. It exploded in a burst of dark green gas.

"_Da_," he answered.

"Good," Emma replied. She looked up into his eyes, a sparkle in her own. "Fastball Special."

He nodded in understanding, catching another by the throat. Barely squeezing, he crushed the warrior's throat. "When you are ready."

She lashed out at the two directly in her way. Her diamond skinned fist broke the first's jaw, a well-placed kick taking the other in the solar plexus. "Now." Colossus picked her up as nothing more than a feather, and with just as much ease, tossed her.

Flying through the air, she could tell his aim was true. Manetti suddenly looked up, catching movement out of the corner of his eye. He cocked his head, his mouth opening of its own volition in surprise. He shook himself out of his disbelief, energy surrounding his fingers, a discharge about to be aimed in her direction. But, even as he did it, she already knew it was too late.

Her fist slammed into his face with the force of a freight train. As her fist met his flesh, she not only heard, but felt a massive, thunderous crack. His jaw shattered, unable to withstand diamond-hard skin thrown by one of the strongest mutants on the planet. Falling to the ground, she rolled with her momentum, landing on a knee, her other leg out to slow her.

Manetti was on the ground, holding his damaged jaw, blood running from his mouth. Emma's attention was suddenly drawn to a fast-moving dark object with a metallic glint. As it landed, she saw it was Wolverine, his claws fully extended, his face contorted in a mask of anger. Picking up Manetti by the shirt, the smaller man pinned him to the wall with his claws. "My turn," the feral mutant growled, his voice barely more than a snarl. His muscles rippled as he delivered an uppercut with his other arm. Emma looked on as the vampire hybrid's body burst in a cloud of ash, covering Logan in carbonized viscera.

Shifting from her diamond form, she looked to Jubilee, who was as stiff as a board. "Jubilee," she asked, reaching out with her telepathy. She smiled widely as she found her consciousness just below the surface. "You're okay."

"Yeah … of course I'm okay," Jubilee said, her voice filled with bravado despite what'd just happened. "He just … kinda turned me off. But, I already knew you guys were comin'." She looked around spotting Logan covered in a black cloud. "We won, right? 'Cause otherwise, I'd have ta think Logan's changing his profession to clean chimneys."

"Yeah, we won darlin'," Logan said, sheathing his claws, and kneeling beside her.

- - - -

**Later**

"Well, it's done," Marty said, walking into the werewolves' den with Zhu by his side.

"Did it burn to the ground," Jake asked, walking up to the two Order members.

"Yeah," the girl answered. "The fire burned too hot for the firefighters to put out. They kept on wondering why the fire kept picking up, and why the water just seemed to evaporate before it hit the mansion."

"Will anyone be able to figure out that it used to house vampires," Selene asked, close behind the X-Man.

"No," Marty replied. "It burned completely. Nothing's left but piles and piles of ash."

"Good," she said, relieved. The last thing they needed was for vampires and werewolves to become public knowledge.

"You know," Marty began, turning toward Jake, "the one thing I don't understand is what took you guys so long to respond to the beacon in the desert."

"You'd have to ask Kitty for the details," Jake answered. "But, as I understand it Reverend Harris Gunn from some obscure anti-gay and anti-mutant church in Kansas had one of his flock send us an extremely vicious computer virus. We were just lucky enough for it to not only affect our student computer network, but also our … other computers."

"Harris Gunn you said?"

"Yeah," Jake said, wondering what exactly he was about. "Why?"

"Why don't you give me your e-mail? I think you'll be pleasantly surprised with what I have for you."

"Okay," Jake said, slightly confused, giving Marty his e-mail.

- - - -

"So, what are you guys going to be doing now," Joey asked Ana and Bryan.

"Well," the werewolf began, "I'm not quite sure." He looked around the den. "They've invited me to stay on with them. And, after everything I've seen here – I don't know if I'll ever be able to go back to my life before."

"Yeah, well considering as how I didn't gain tenure, and no university's going to touch me with a ten foot cattle prod," Ana said dejectedly. "Academia doesn't look kindly on getting one of your students killed."

"So you're not quite sure," Celeste asked.

"Well, you're the only one who knows anything about this suit I'm stuck with," Ana replied. "I think that considering as how I'm not going to be an archaeologist anymore the first thing I should do is learn how to control this thing."

"I can certainly help you with that," the other woman said.

"One thing though," Ana began. "Is this the kind of thing you guys get involved with all the time?"

AN: So, I know this chapter was really long … but I felt if I had chopped it into two, the second chapter would've been too short. And I really am not very fond of short chapters. Anyways, please review; there's only one chapter to go. . . .


	11. Loose Ends

Chapter 11: Loose Ends

**Later That Evening – 10:35 pm**

The black sedan pulled to the curb in front of the burnt husk that was once the home of over a hundred vampires, and fifty Death Dealers. If the sun had still been up, the windows of the car would be seen to be abnormally dark. They were, in fact, made to protect the driver against ultraviolet wavelengths of light. As the engine was turned off, an expensive Italian shoe stepped to the curb.

The man attached to the shoe surveyed the damage done to the mansion. The fire had burned hot; extremely hot. Of the mansion itself, almost the only thing left were several piles of ashes, seemingly scattered haphazardly. A small piece of the north wall still stood, though nothing about could show the elegance of the halls that had once been there. The gate to the street had been knocked down by the fire department as firefighters tried to get to the blazing inferno.

But, they could do little to prevent the flames from eating everything in sight.

Despite this, the man knew he'd find what he was looking for. It was protected; its owner wouldn't have been so ignorant to not have done so. But, the difficult part would be in finding it.

Walking into the ruins, he took in the devastation. Besides the part of one wall, there was also a support beam still standing. Using it as a reference, he walked towards the east wall, reasonably sure he would find it there. Reaching the edge of the remains of the mansion, he reached into his pants pocket, pulling out a sheet of paper. He'd written down what he'd had to say phonetically, unable to read the language it'd originally been written in.

He began to recite what he'd written down, the words sounding odd and distant as they exited his mouth. Though he did not know what language it was, those who studied ancient languages might have recognized it as ancient Aramaic. As he finished uttering the spell, a shimmering image began dancing in front of him. As the shimmering continued, what had once been empty space became a small side room of the mansion, totally untouched by the flames.

In the center of the room, the man saw a thick book, opened to somewhere in the middle. As he stepped closer, he saw the pages were old, but seemed to be in perfect shape. He noticed the writing on the left page, recognizing it as Latin. The spell, catching his attention, seemed to call out to him. Unable to pull his eyes away, he began reading it, unconsciously saying it out loud. It was this unconscious slip that would lead him down a long, perilous road.

Suddenly, as he finished speaking the spell, his world seemed to drop away. He was falling, faster than he thought possible. He clenched his teeth, his stomach flying to this throat. A moment later, he landed, his world spinning. He closed his eyes, fighting back nausea, hoping the world would stop spinning. He vomited, chyme burning his throat, his abdomen burning in exertion.

Finally, he could feel the spinning stop. He stood up weakly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. For the first time, he was able to see where he was. And he knew something was … wrong here.

He was standing in a massive, long hall. He raised his eyes to the ceiling, trying to determine just how big the chamber was. His brows sank in confusion; the ceiling wasn't visible. He wasn't sure if it was because it was so high, or if it was so dark in the hall. The only light he could see in the hall was that of torches interspersed on either side at regular intervals. The torches were barely able to cut through the ink-like dark.

As his eyes adjusted to the low light, he could see he was on a stone walkway. On either side of the walkway, a small canal, easily walked over with a single step, followed it as far as he could see. Walking over to the nearest canal, he kneeled, tasting the water. He was surprised to realize that it wasn't water. "Blood," he whispered. Trying to figure out exactly where he was, he stood up and followed the path.

He wasn't sure how long he walked; it felt like hours, but was probably under a half hour. Finally, after an indeterminable amount of time, he saw a bright light ahead on his left. Drawn to it as a moth to a flame, he wanted to know what this break in monotony was.

Reaching the light, he discovered a room. It was brightly lit in the way that only an examination room could be. In the center of the room, a man sat in a chair that could have been a dentist's. The only difference was that his arms and legs were cuffed to arm and leg extensions, respectively, that had him spread eagle. He also noticed that the man was as naked as the day he was born.

Three scantily-clad women he took as nurses stood around the man. One stood between his legs, running her finger down his chest. As he watched, she kneeled between his legs, and looking up at the man, began performing fellatio. The man's face relaxed, ecstasy filling his mind. But … yet something told the observer something was not right about this.

He happened to notice one of the other nurses' eyes. Her eyes were dark, a depthless void seemingly reflected behind them. The third nurse, the one near the man's head, placed something that looked like a vice around his head. She smiled, her teeth not human, but long, and impossibly sharp. She went to a cart on the side of the room, and picked up something the observer didn't immediately recognize. It looked almost like a railroad spike, but with a handle at the dull end. She flicked her wrist, tiny backwards facing barbs suddenly erupting out of the sharp end of the spike.

She moved back the man's head. She seemed to say something, though he didn't know what. Suddenly, she raised her hand, and plunged the spike into the man's eye. "My eye, my eye," the man suddenly started to scream, struggling against the handcuffs. The nurse flicked her wrist, and yanked, pulling out the man's eye. She brought it to her mouth, taking it gingerly in her teeth. She seemed to savor the taste; it was almost as if she thought it was the best thing she'd ever tasted. Swallowing, she moved to the other eye.

Meanwhile, the observer happened to notice the second nurse hadn't been still. She now stood where she'd been beforehand, only now she had a wicked looking pair of pliers. She took one of his fingers in her hand, and placing the pliers on the end of his digit, she squeezed. The man's screams now echoed out, shaking the observer's resolve. Only now did he notice the first nurse.

Without stopping her ministrations, she brought up a single hand. Holding aloft a single finger, the observer noticed that her nail grew, becoming hardened and yellow. In a single, vicious stroke, she ripped across the man's belly, pale intestines falling out. Still keeping her rhythm, she reached into the man's body and tore the intestines from their connective tissue. Snakes of digestive system fell out onto the floor, heaping next to the nurse. And, yet, perversely, the nurse kept at her ministrations.

Gritting his teeth, the observer moved on, unable to shake the scene from his mind. He turned, stumbling slightly as he closed his eyes. For the first time, he wondered what exactly this place was.

Continuing on his walk, he noticed a dim light straight ahead of him. As he entered the light, he found where the hall led. He was standing in a massive throne room. Looking to his left, he could see that the room opened to the air. Heaviness settled in his stomach as he looked on the landscape. In the distance, he could see a solitary volcano, thick black smoke billowing from its crater. Behind the volcano, he could see the sky, an odd orange-yellow color. Below the mountain, a dark plain lay spread out. Crags and crevices grew out from the base of the mountain like a spider web, lava glowing slightly in them all.

He turned just as he heard a footstep near him. Turning, he saw a beautiful woman walking towards him. Dressed in rich silks, her clothes left nothing to the imagination. Her dark eyes sparkled as she neared him; he swore she seemed to have the same depthless eyes the nurses had had. "Hello," she greeted in a sibilant hiss. This close, he could see that something seemed to be moving under her skin. Something … seemed to writhe just beneath her face. It almost seemed as if her human form was only a façade; that her true form was something much more hideous. "My master will be along shortly."

"Your master," he asked tentatively. His voice seemed to crack under the simple two words.

Before the woman could answer, a deep shadow seemed to fill the throne that sat in the middle of the room. His attention drawn to the great seat, he could now see that the legs and arms were bleached white. After a moment, though, he realized that they weren't bleached white, but were instead bones. Studying them, he noticed that they were, in fact, human bones. He swallowed hard, wondering what exactly the fabric was made of.

The shadow that had entered the room solidified on the throne. Though the figure seemed almost made of the shadows, he could tell that the figure was humanoid. Massive red eyes shone down on him, smoke billowing from the edges. The figure gazed down, and a voice boomed. "**WELCOME**," the voice began, shaking not only the walls, but the very earth itself. "**I WELCOME YOU TO MY REALM, KRAVEN OF LEICESTER.**"

The former regent felt terror overcome him, his heart beating his throat, as the voice washed over him.

- - - -

**Athens, Greece – One Month Later**

In his experience, Dr. Stephen Strange had found there were generally two ways lamb was cooked. The first, though it could not mask the particular meaty taste, complimented it, making the lamb taste quite excellent. The second way, however, tended to highlight the taste, making it rather … unsavory. As the Sorcerer Supreme of Earth bit into his gyro, he was glad that the meat was the former, and not the latter.

He was currently sitting at a table for two outside a small restaurant catering mostly to tourists. As it was, though, he had an excellent view of the sea from where he was sitting. Taking a sip of his tea, he thought back to the past month he'd spent in Athens.

When he had left New York, he had had the odd desire to bring the book he'd gotten from the woman in Texas. He wasn't quite sure, but he suspected that the letter he received may have had something to do with that. In any event, once he'd arrived, he had started asking around considering the Order of the Elements. But, despite his best efforts, he'd not been able to find anything.

He had had the feeling, as he had gone about his investigation, that the people he'd been speaking with had been hiding information from him. But, he hadn't been able to prove this. He'd even resorted to trying to a spell or two. But, every time he had done so, his magic seemed to not be effective. Each time, though, he had returned to his hotel room, only to discover that his spells were working there. It seemed as if something was blocking his magic, but he had not sensed anything. He suspected that there may have been a wide acting spell protecting this information from prying eyes and ears. But, again, he was not sure.

After not being able to find anything for the past month, he was readying himself to return to New York without answers. His flight was scheduled for the next day at nine in the morning. Taking another bite, he couldn't help but feel annoyed at his failure to find any information.

Taking another sip of his tea, he looked up, breaking his reverie. He noticed a pretty young woman walking towards the restaurant. Dressed in a sleeveless white blouse and black Capri pants, she seemed quite the tourist. His gaze followed her progress until she disappeared at the entrance of the restaurant. If only I were a few years younger, he thought wryly.

He finished his lunch, only to be surprised a few moments later when the same woman appeared almost out of nowhere next to him. "Dr. Stephen Strange, I presume?" This close, he could see her dark eyes, exuding warmth and intelligence.

"Uh … yes," he replied, unsure of what to make of her.

"My name is Katerina Menounous," she said, holding out her hand. "May I sit," she asked politely, after he'd taken her hand.

"I suppose," he answered. If nothing else, there seemed to be a certain kind of professionalism about her. The very way she carried herself seemed to suggest she was a high-level employee at a large firm. "What is this regarding?"

She sat down, putting out her hand in greeting in the process. As he took it, she said, "Let me first say it is a pleasure to meet you, doctor." She gestured the waiter over, and speaking in Greek, ordered a light lunch. "I hope you don't mind if I order lunch; I'm famished," she said. After the waiter had left, she turned towards him. "I suppose I do not have to tell you who I represent."

"The Order?" He warily studied her face, waiting for her to answer in the negative. Instead she nodded, and turned slightly, a small spot of dull, amber light appearing on her left shoulder. The small point of light expanded until it became a quarter circle, the point towards her elbow. In the center of her tattoo, a tornado seemed to move slowly, carrying debris within. "I received that letter over a month ago. Why are you contacting me now?"

"We were faced with several simultaneous problems, doctor," she answered. The waiter returned with her order. As he retreated, she continued, "I apologize for you having to wait for so long; it was not intentional. The problems I spoke of had to be taken care of quite rapidly."

"If these problems you spoke of were magic related, I could have been of use."

"No doubt," she replied. "However, there was the sensitivity of each of the problems. To have someone who is not a part of the Order to assist us is a massive security risk. Thus, we could not employ outside help."

"And what exactly do you want with me now? You couldn't have inducted me into your society?"

She smiled wryly. "There … were considerations made on your part. We did not want to scare you off at the first meeting." She looked over at the waiter again. "If you are curious as to why we contacted you, come with me after lunch. There is something I am sure you would like to see."

Though his original intention was to meet someone from the Order, he'd been put off by them. They had, after all, requested his presence. And it was only now, over a month later, that they had finally decided on contacting him. "Fine," he said finally. "But, I hope it was worth the amount of time I waited."

"I assure you it will be." She smiled jovially. "In the meantime, you simply must try the baklava here. It is absolutely delicious."

- - - -

An hour later, Dr. Strange found himself outside a small, dilapidated building. As they neared the building, which he thought was a store, he caught sight of an old, grizzled man dressed in an old, raggedy coat. He was drinking something out of a brown glass bottle. As he and Katerina passed the man, he looked up at them with rheumy eyes, his nose and cheeks red with drink.

Katerina opened the door to the small building. "This way," she gestured him inside.

Stepping inside, the sorcerer found himself in a small, dim hallway. Above him, a single naked bulb struggled to put out the pitiful light it did. The walls, once white, were now a dark shade of gray, spider-webs of cracks running up and down. "Follow the hall," Katerina told him. Doing as he was told, he walked to the end of the hallway, to find it opened up into an old apothecary shop.

Katerina came up behind him, and started speaking to the shop owner, an old woman with a round face. The two began talking to each other, obviously about him, in a language he … thought he recognized. It sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it at first. Realization suddenly dawned on his face. "That's …."

"Yes," Katerina said, turning to him. "It is the language of the Ancients."

"How is it that you both know it?"

"Come with me," she answered, "and I will show you." She walked forward, going for a door on the other side of the room. She turned once, to make sure he was following. "What you will now see is perhaps one of the most guarded secrets in the history of the world. Do I have your solemn word that you will not share what you see here with anyone living, dead, or otherwise?"

"Yes, of course."

She opened the door, leading to what seemed to be a storeroom. What hadn't been in the front of the store was found back here. He could smell herbs and a potpourri of incense back here. Though each scent wasn't bad in and of itself, mixed together they were almost overpowering. He found his eyes starting to water, his nose going dry from the thick incense. She kept ahead of him, walking towards the opposite wall. She stopped in front of a small alcove, an odd looking outlet on the wall on her left. "Are you ready," she asked.

"Yes," he answered. His throat was dry, the buildup starting to make his heart flutter. "I'm ready."

"Good." She put her hand on the outlet gently, removing it a moment afterwards. The outlet opened, revealing a metal wand-like apparatus concealed within. The wand came out of the wall, revealing an oddly wide head. A laser fired suddenly from the wand, not unlike a bar-code reader, and began moving over her left shoulder. As the red, horizontal light passed over her tattoo, it lit up with a slight amber glow. As the wand finished moving over the tattoo, it beeped, and returned to the outlet. The wall opposite the entrance to the alcove opened, revealing a hidden door. "Come with me and you will see just how far this rabbit hole goes."

He followed her through the doorway, only to find a hallway leading into the bowels of the earth. Torches lined the walls as far as he could see down, the soft light giving the hard rock an almost familiar atmosphere. As he walked into the hall, the rock closed behind him with a surprisingly soft sound. As he followed Katerina, he asked, "How far does this hall go down?"

"I don't know exactly," she replied, looking back. "The moment we entered this hallway, we entered a portal. No one is really quite sure how far down the hallways go because very few people even know where this cavern is."

"We're no longer in Athens," he asked.

"No, we are not," she replied. "Each entrance to the cavern we are walking to is a portal opening somewhere on the surface. It is another security feature to protect us. If someone were able to get as far as the door, and actually open it, the portal that brought us here would automatically send that person somewhere else." She looked at him over her eye. "Usually that place is somewhere very hot or very cold. People are generally teleported to Siberia, Antarctica, or maybe the Outback, or even the Sahara."

"You said that if they _even_ got to the portal, which means that there are other security protocols?"

"The two people we saw on the way in are both Order members, and are both quite dangerous."

"I see." The hallway continued on, sometimes meandering to the right or left. But, irregardless of which way it turned, it kept moving downwards. After what seemed like an hour, but was probably closer to ten minutes, another question occurred to him. "Your organization is so secretive, and I expect that relatively few people join your Order every year, yes?"

"Yes," she acquiesced.

"Then, why was it that you reached out to me?"

She smiled wryly. "I suppose there is no reason for me to explain; after all it was I that put out your name." She stopped, and turned towards him. "Earlier this year, Augustus Aurelius, the Grand Vicar for the Order of the Elements for the last two and a half millennia passed away from unnatural causes."

"Unnatural causes," Dr. Strange asked.

"He was conducting a … very dangerous spell, and it somehow backfired. We are unsure as to how this was possible, but we are still investigating the matter." Her face had grown serious, a worry creasing her brows. "After his funeral, the High Council convened to determine who the next Grand Vicar should be. We fought back and forth for over a month, unable to nominate a successor. We were trying to nominate someone from the Council, but every time one person was nominated, another would challenge it." She sighed exasperatedly. "The other Council members do not wish to hear it, but they have truly become too political for their own good."

"You're a member of this Council," he asked, almost rhetorically.

"Yes," she replied. "Unable to find someone within the Order, it was decided that we should find someone outside the Order. I was the one to nominate you, and was thus asked to meet you."

He digested this information, mulling it over in his mind. "There were other nominations?"

"There were," Katerina supplied, hesitantly. "But, many of them … had questionable ethics, to say the least. Once I suggested you, most of the other Council members jumped aboard. In retrospect, many of them realized you were the best choice."

"I see," he said. He looked her square in the eyes. "And you assumed I would be willing to be you leader?"

"No," she answered truthfully. "I had wanted to give you a tour of our base, first. And I also wanted to give you the option to beg out of the position. It is quite a responsibility to take on."

He soaked in her words, seemingly finding something exquisitely interesting on the ground. Finally, he looked up. "Once I became the Sorcerer Supreme of Earth, I became one of its defenders. Perhaps it was destiny that I became what I am today, or perhaps it was all happenstance." His eyes steeled, his jaw growing rigid. "Now, I have a chance to do more to protect the Earth, and its inhabitants. As such, I don't think I have much of a choice here." A wry smile grew on his face, his eyes sparkling. "Yes, I will be your Grand Vicar."

- - - -

**X-Mansion – Two Months Later**

Lucas Bishop crouched low behind the snow bank, searching for his opponents. The first hard snow had come early this year, halfway through November. Now, in the first week of December, the snow had accumulated that much more. Two major snowstorms in less than three weeks had deposited over twelve inches from as far west as Illinois, to as far east as New York City, and as far north as northern Michigan to as far south as Maryland. There had been a record number of schools calling off for snow days.

The big man listened intently, his face a mask of grim determination. Though his hands were getting cold from the snow slowly seeping into his gloves, he didn't lose his concentration. Suddenly, he heard a crunching behind him, someone moving through the snow. He turned … just in time for a snowball to hit him square in the chest.

"Oh, c'mon, that was too easy," Jubilation Lee exclaimed. She grinned widely from beneath her thick coat.

"Yes, it was," Bishop replied, throwing the snowball in his hand. The young X-Woman easily dodged the wet ball as it hit the ground harmlessly behind her.

"You missed me," she sang. A moment later, two snowballs hit her almost simultaneously, one from her left, one from her right. Before she could say anything, though, two more pelted her in succession on the back. "Hey, no fair!"

"Nah, 'tain't fair. But, we surprised you, _non_?" Remy's eyes sparkled devilishly, the familiar charming smile spread easily across his face.

"Yeah, you did," she said, the fire in her eyes dying down some. "But if you and Rogue were there, who was behind me?" She turned around, slowly. Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she saw who had thrown the other two snowballs at her. "Bobby … I thought you were on my side."

"Hey, it wasn't my idea," he said, smiling widely. Jubilee had known him long enough to know his "lying" smile when she saw. "She put me up to it," Bobby said, pointing to the woman standing next to him.

"I did not," Kitty decried.

"Did she now," Jubilee asked loudly, her face becoming a mask of devilishness.

"I did no such thing," Kitty restated, looking between boyfriend and girlfriend. As her gaze fell back on the other X-Woman, she got a face full of soft snow. "That is it," she cried, wiping off the snow. She reached down to form a snowball, the first step in what would become an all out snowball battle….

- - - -

"They're having fun down there," Jake said, looking back at the Professor. "Are you sure you don't want to go down there?"

"I'll be fine," Professor Xavier said pleasantly, a small smile on his face.

"Well, you know, can't blame a guy for tryin'," Jake came back, walking towards the TV in the room.

"No, I suppose not," the elder man replied.

"Am I too late for the verdict," Hank asked, as he suddenly bounded into the room.

"No," Jake replied. "They're about to announce it." He turned up the volume of the small TV, and focused on the reporter.

"_This was the scene just minutes ago when jurors handed down the verdict on the Harris Gunn case in this small Kansas town._" The reporter paused momentarily as the image on the television shifted from the exterior of the Kansas courthouse to the inside, just outside of the courtroom. "_Viewers will remember that Reverend Harris Gunn was arrested three months ago after an anonymous tip connected him with the largest child pornography ring on record. When authorities raided his small church in this rural Kansas town, known for its strong views not only on mutants but on gay marriage, they found pictures and files implicating him with an international illegal pornography ring. Gunn was the lynchpin in the investigation, his arrest leading to over three dozen related arrest warrants. Today, the jurors in this small town found him guilty of all charges. It is expected that authorities…."_

"At the least, we now have closure to our little sally out west," Hank said, leaning against one of the overstuffed chairs.

"Unfortunately, that is not the case," Professor Xavier stated, turning to face the other two. "We still have not determined how the virus that was sent to us was able to jump from our student network to that of our computers downstairs. They are, after all, on entirely different networks."

"Not to mention our computers have security protocols and enough computational power to make the collective personnel at the Pentagon shit their pants." The other two men frowned at Jake's language, though they did agree with him. "Kitty," he continued, "has been having a hell of a time trying to figure out how it happened."

"Yes, she has," Hank agreed. "From what we have seen, she and I are both of the opinion that something … supernatural occurred."

"Knowing our luck, it probably was," Jake said.

"If that is the case," the Professor said, "then it is unlikely that we will ever … find out … what happened." His eyes grew distant, his brow dipped in concentration. A moment later, his eyes cleared, and he whispered a single word. "Cain."

- - - -

Cain Marko, the man known by many simply as the Juggernaut, lay comatose on the reinforced bed. He was hooked up to several different machines, monitoring his vital signs, his skin deathly pale. His fingers and toes were blue from the cold, frostbite having started to take hold of his extremities. As it was, Hank was hoping against all that he knew that he would not have to amputate anything.

At the side of the bed, Professor Xavier kept vigil over his stepbrother. When he had sensed him, Cain had been almost on the grounds. By the time they had reached him, the massive man had collapsed at the front gates from exhaustion, exposure to the elements, and dehydration. By that time, he had been only half of his Cytorrak-empowered nine hundred pounds. They had brought him inside almost immediately. That had been almost forty hours earlier.

Since that time, the founder of the X-Men had been sitting beside the larger man. He'd been searching for any conscious thought. But, still, Cain had not awoken from the coma.

Unable to fight his own exhaustion, the Professor had finally succumbed, and had finally dozed off, if only for a little while.

"Charlie," the weak, hoarse voice of Cain Marko softly spoke. The effect on the geneticist was almost immediate. Professor Xavier woke up almost as if he'd been prodded in the side, looking around momentarily.

"You're awake," the Professor said simply. At the same time, he reached out with his telepathy. But, as his mind touched Cain's, a sudden migraine welled up, threatening to break his concentration. Even as the headache struck, he felt memories washing over his mind, becoming his own. Streams of memories flashed through his mind at the speed of thought; memories of his childhood, as seen through the eyes of his stepbrother. The stream sped up, the pain in his head becoming all consuming. And as the headache became too much, the memories stopped just as the painful scream echoed out of his throat.

As the pain subsided, Professor Xavier fixed his stepbrother with a sorrowful look. "I'm sorry.… I never knew."

"I didn't either," Cain replied. "Not until they showed me."

"They?"

"I ain't too sure who they were, but they…," he began. The larger man moved his gaze to that of his stepbrother. "I was doin' a job in Italy…. Alls I remember is I had ta steal somethin'. But, I don't remember what … and I don't remember who hired me." He looked down to the rest of his body, examining what had happened to him. "They captured me; they used some kinda spell that locked me in place. Afterwards, they blindfolded me and took me to their … cave. They showed me when we were kids … only through your eyes." He cast his eyes down again, almost shamefully. "I'm sorry."

"It's not either of our faults what happened to the two of us," Professor Xavier said kindly.

"No," Cain said, seemingly accepting the fact forlornly. "We couldn't have." He looked up again, capturing his younger sibling's eyes. "After they did that, they told me I had a choice. They said I could either be against you, or with you. And, then they showed me what would happen with each choice." The big man smiled wryly. "One of 'em, you took me out personally. I wouldn't o' thought ya had it in ya. The other, well, I ain't exactly a saint, but I'm on your side."

Just as he finished saying that, the door burst open, Jake and Betsy thrusting them selves into the room. "What the hell was that scream about," Jake asked. But, even as he asked, a lightning bolt erupted from Cain's side, striking them in their chests. They fell to their knees, gritting their teeth as energy was pulled from them at an alarming rate. As the energy met Cain's body, it blanketed out, covering him in blue light.

The energy drain slowly slackened, allowing the lovers to finally stand. Their gazes fell on Cain's body, where, as the energy dissipated over his body, they saw what had happened. "This is too sodding odd," Betsy said, taking in the scene before her.

Lying on the bed was Cain Marko. Now, though, blue armor, so dark it was nearly black, covered his body, in the same design as his original armor.

AN1: For those of you unfamiliar with "Underworld", Kraven was the second-in-command under Viktor. He betrayed the vampires when conspired with Lucien to overthrow the vampire elders. He later betrayed the werewolves, as well.

AN2: Stay tuned for "The Protector Saga, part III: Parallels".


End file.
